The Complex Adventures of Lincoln and Johnny
by Flagg1991
Summary: The adventures of brothers Johnny and Lincoln Velazquest and their wacky friends, including neighbors the Loud sisters. Oneshot collection. [Commission]
1. Left in the Dark

Every day after school, Lincoln and his brother Johnny walked home along the railroad tracks, cut across the industrial park, and followed Center Street past a rush of strip malls, fast food joints, and gas stations. It was a two mile long trek through the heart of downtown Royal Woods that usually included a quick stop at Gus's Games and Grub, where the newest addition to the arcade, _Primus, _called out to every boy and girl in a ten mile radius. A shooting/flying/puzzle game, it was the most fun you could have by law. On April 23, however, they skipped their daily five rounds of play in favor of something else.

Against Lincoln's _strenuous _objections. "You can go on," Lincoln said, "I wanna play _Primus." _

"Dude, I need you for this," Johnny begged.

That was a lie and Lincoln knew it. Johnny, a year and a half older with dreads, one pupil smaller than the other (lending him an almost crazed appearance), black fingerless gloves, and an olive green coat, was confident, self-possessed, and bright. He was a master in the art of mayhem and had studied under the greatest minds in the business - Bart Simpson, Ryan Dunn, and Dennis the Menace. Though they were brothers, Johnny was black and Lincoln white, the former taking after their father and the latter their mother.

Anyway, Johnny needed Lincoln for today's "operation" the same way Hulk Hogan needed Hornswoggle the midget to win the heavyweight championship.

Not at all.

"All you're doing is -"

"I need a look out," Johnny said.

They were at the end of Central, where the lanes narrow and merge to form S. Arbor Street, which crosses the Royal River and becomes US10 before winding away through the surrounding hills. Franklin Avenue was a block up on the left. Cars whizzed by in the road and a homeless man in rags stood by the entrance of a Sunnoco with a cardboard sign in his hands. NINJAS KIDNAPPED FAMILY NEED MONEY FOR KARATE LESSONS. Lincoln wasn't dumb, he knew that wasn't why the guy needed money, but if he had a dollar, he'd give it to him just for being creative.

"You don't need a look out," Lincoln said, "we've been through the plan a million times. You're good."

It was Johnny's idea...like these things always were. He came up with it Monday night. He and Lincoln were on the couch, Johnny with his legs on the coffee table and his arm draped over the back of the sofa, and Lincoln sitting back against the arm with his knees drawn to his chest. He was one level away from beating _Zombie Heck Island _and his DS had ten percent battery life. It was a race against the clock to defeat the evil zombie king before the screen went dark, and Lincoln was trapped on a street corner surrounded by the living dead. "Du-uuuu-dddde," Johnny laughed. "We should do that."

"Uh-huh," Lincoln replied absent-mindedly. He had no idea what Johnny was talking about and he didn't really care. He had a zombie/King Kong hybrid to fight and not much time to do it in. "Can you grab my charger?"

"Dude, are you even listening to me?" Johnny asked.

"Sure, we oughta do something," Lincoln said. A zombie popped up in front of him and he smashed the X button. His character lashed out with a machete and the top of the zombie's head slid off with a wet shlicking sound. Its pulsing brain was exposed, and it toppled to one side with a strangled cry of undead agony.

Suddenly, the DS was wrenched from his hands, and for a split second, he tapped air, then he started. "Give it back!"

Johnny held the game away. His eyes danced with a wicked light and the corners of his mouth turned up in a sly, sadistic grin. Johnny was a good brother...he looked out for Lincoln and always had his back...then ruined it by doing crap like this. "Ignoring your elders is really rude, bro, I don't think you deserve this anymore."

Like a spring snapping open, Lincoln lunged at his brother and hit him like a small, vicious mammal. Johnny cried out, and they tumbled off the couch in a tangle of limbs. Lincoln's hair, slicked carefully back from his forehead like it was 1958, stuck up at weird angles and his eyes, normally timid and docile, blazed with righteous fury. He could put up with a lot of things - being teased, roasted - but when you get in between him and his video games, it was on. Johnny, older but not much bigger, thrashed back and forth and Lincoln's balance upset. They rolled, Johnny on top now, and hit the coffee table, knocking it askew.

Johnny grabbed Lincoln's wrists and pinned them to the floor, and Lincoln threw himself left and right in an attempt to buck him off. "Get off of me!" he cried.

"Say the magic word," Johnny smirked.

Instead, Lincoln brought his knee up into the older boy's crotch. Johnny's eyes widened and the air left his chest in a rattling wheeze. His body went slack, and Lincoln shoved him off. "Boys!" Mom called. "Knock it off!"

Lincoln got to his knees, then, all at once, Johnny was all over him, hitting, kicking, and scratching. Lincoln growled and shot his elbow back into his brother's ribs, and Johnny retaliated by wrapping his forearm around Lincoln's neck from behind. Lincoln reached back, grabbed a handful of Johnny's dreads, and yanked as hard as he could.

"Boys!" Mom cried. "Cut it out _now!"_

"Get off me!" Lincoln yelled.

"Let go of my hair!"

The deafening crack of their father's belt rang through the house, and both boys jumped in holy terror. Shoving each other away, they scrambled back onto the couch and sat perfectly still, their feud totally forgotten in the face of having their asses torn to pieces by Dad's leathery vengeance.

"That's what I thought," Dad said from the kitchen.

Little known fact: That meme about black parents being strict ain't no joke. Mom just yelled, but Dad actually acted. One time he made Johnny and Lincoln sit in a squatting position with their backs against the wall for an hour because they broke the TV during one of their scuffles. Another time, he took literally everything out of their room and threw it away because he overheard them complaining that they "never got anything" when Mom took them to the store. _Now you really don't have anything, _Dad said, _how does it feel?_

Not good.

Not good at all.

"Anyway," Johnny said, "I have an idea."

"What?" Lincoln grumbled.

Johnny told him, and a little of his anger drained away. It was dumb, but funny, and after a little convincing, he was 100 percent onboard. The plotted the prank meticulously, even crafting contingency plans for every possible thing that could go wrong. Lincoln did most of the planning, since that was where he excelled. Johnny was smart and could think on his feet, but he was better at actualization. IE, doing. Lincoln was the opposite. He could do, but he was better off in a strategizing role.

It was all planned down to the slightest detail and Johnny most certainly did _not _need a lookout.

"I just want you there, okay?" The needy inflection in his voice pulled at Lincoln's heartstrings. For whatever reason, Johnny wanted him there and, sigh, there he would wind up being.

"Fine," he sighed.

"Great," Johnny said, "this is gonna be epic."

They waited for a city bus to pass before crossing the street. On Franklin, they followed the sidewalk past big, middle class homes with parcel lawns. Their house was ahead on the right, light yellow with a blue slate roof and neatly trimmed hedges encircling the backyard, where a trampoline waited for frolic and fun. A group of kids played hockey in the middle of the street, two overturned metal trash cans facing each other and serving as goals. Lincoln and Johnny ignored them and started across their front lawn when a voice called out to them. "Hey. weirdos!"

As one, they turned just as Lynn Loud Jr. rolled up on a pair of clunky, ancient skates that she either got fourth hand from her grandparents or dug out of a dumpster. Squat and wirey with short brown hair and a missing front tooth, she wore black shorts and an oversized red starter jacket with cuffs that constantly slipped over her hands.

"Hey, Lynn," Johnny said, and the glint in his eye told Lincoln he was already thinking of what was to come.

Lincoln watched Lynn come with a twist of pleasant apprehension. He _kind _of had a thing for her.

Lynn rolled down the walkway, then shuffled over the grass, her wheels tearing clumps from the ground and making Lincoln wince. Dad was gonna be mad. "You guys know what tonight is?" Lynn asked.

Of course Lincoln knew what night it was: The big season finale of ARGGH! Hunter Spectre was going to film live from an abandoned mental hospital reputed to be haunted by man-eating ghosts so ugly and terrifying just glimpsing them drove men insane. Everyone in school was going to watch it, and if anyone missed it, they would be a laughingstock for the rest of their academic lives, and probably their regular lives too unless they left town and moved somewhere else after they graduated.

"I'm really stoked," Lynn said. "You guys should come over and watch it with us."

Johnny and Lincoln exchanged a big, nervous smile. Lynn's family was great and all but...uh...big. Very big. And very loud. She had nine sisters ranging in age from seventeen to, like, thirteen months or something. There was Lori, the oldest, who wore her hair short in the back but long in the front. She gave great dating advice and was a master at video games, but she tripped a lot about dumb stuff too, like Lincoln using a coaster and bringing his pet rat over. Leni, at sixteen, was next. Kind of ditzy, she dressed in torn jeans and wore her blonde hair up under a aquamaria watch cap. She was big into fashion and gave Lincoln and Johnny the best tips...but she also savaged the heck out of them when she didn't like what they were wearing. She once told Johnny to "take that stupid paperbag off your head, you totes look like a fool" and called Lincoln's gray army-style coat "fugly."

Luna, fifteen, was into rock. She helped Johnny learn to play guitar better and kind of helped Lincoln with his cello; she wasn't very good at it, but fronted like she was. Luan...Jeez, Luan. Fourteen she wore her hair in these afro puff looking things that put Lincoln in mind of Mickey Mouse. She wore yellow pants with suspenders and a pink bowtie like a clown - which was the point, Lincoln supposed. She taught him and Johnny the fine art of pranking. Bad move, lol, because he and Johnny put what they had learned into practice _all _the time.

Lynn was next in line. She was a sportsaholic BIG TIME and often roped Johnny and Lincoln into playing with her. Johnny was more athletically gifted and enjoyed it, Lincoln did not. Thanks to her, he was better than he used to be, but still not good enough that getting tackled into the pavement didn't bring tears to his eyes.

Below Lynn on the food chain was Lucy. She wore a big black sweater that slipped down her shoulders and over her hands much like Lynn's jacket (guess Mama and Papa Loud can't afford clothes that fit their kids). She was missing a bunch of teeth either because the Tooth Fairy liked her or the dentist didn't. She wrote shockingly good poetry for an eight-year-old and taught Lincoln and Johnny about metric and lyrical stuff. You know, poetry junk. Which really helped when Lincoln and Johnny wrote songs together.

After Lucy came the twins, Lana and Lola, both as different from the other as fire is from ice. Lana was an animal loving Little Miss Fix-It who wore denim overalls over a green shirt (one strap left undone because the clasp was broken) and a green fireman hat looking thing. She taught Lincoln and Johnny a little about home repair, which came in handy when they broke something; now they had a fighting chance of putting whatever it was back together instead of getting their butts whipped by Dad. Lola wore her hair in these elaborate pigtails held in place by two pink bows apiece, a pink shirt, and a white blouse accented by a pink tie.

Next to last was Lisa, the genius in a green and black sweater vest and brown skirt. From her, they learned science-y stuff.

Finally, there was Lily, your typical baby. She drooled and said "Poo-poo" a lot. Oh, and she had a crush on Johnny. I know, strange, right? Lincoln didn't understand it, but every time Johnny was around, she batted her eyelashes and acted super flirty. Craziest thing ever. Lincoln and Johnny babysat her a few times for pocket change. Literally, Mr. Loud handed them a palm-full of pennies, pocket lint, and a lottery ticket that had already been scratched off. With such a huge brood, he and the missus were poor as sin, so Lincoln didn't hold it against him.

Anyway, the Loud girls were cool, but once you got them all together, it turned into a madhouse _real _fast. Lincoln wanted to watch ARGGH, not Lana and Lola bickering, Lynn picking her toenails, Lori bossing everyone around, Luan cracking dumb jokes, Lucy writing poetry, everyone talking, laughing, fighting, stomping, ahhhh, Jeez, shut up, MY SHOW IS ON.

"Maybe," Johnny said noncommittally.

"Possibly," Lincoln added.

One of Lynn's friends called out to her, and she screamed over her shoulder for them to wait. "You should come over," she said, "we're gonna make popcorn and drink store brand cola until we puke." She uttered a breathy chuckle. "Anyway, gotta go, see ya!"

With that, she turned around and trudged off, tearing up even more of the lawn. When she was gone, Johnny swatted Lincoln's chest with the back of his hand and nodded to the front door. They went inside and crept up the stairs so they didn't disturb their mother, asleep on the couch after a long day of homemaking. In Johnny's room, Johnny went to the window, lifted the sash, and crouched down to watch the Loud house. His pet parrot Sergio flew over and perched on his shoulder. Lincoln's pet rat Cinnamon trotted in and Lincoln stooped down to pick him up. "Hey, boy," he said and tucked him into the breast pocket of his jacket. Cinnamon popped his head out and wiggled his whiskers.

Lincoln knelt next to his brother, laid his hands on the sill, and studied the facade of the house across the way. Lana and Lola came down the sidewalk and went inside, then a moment later, Lucy followed. Lynn and her friends wrapped up their game momentarily, and she went inside just ahead of Leni, who walked up with her hands up and bent like a begging dog.

"You ready, bro?" Johnny asked.

Lincoln leaned over and grabbed two walkie talkies from the nightstand. He tossed one to Johnny and kept one for himself. "Just like we planned," he said.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know," Johnny said. He turned his radio on and shoved it into one of the pockets of his green army coat. "West wall, front window, dining room."

As chaotic as the Loud House could be, there was a strict afternoon schedule that Mr. and Mrs. Loud somehow got their daughters to follow. After all of the kids were home from school, they gathered in the dining room to do their homework. At 5:30, come heck or high water, Mr. Loud served dinner - usually some putrid dish of his own devising - and then, starting at 7, each Loud girl went through her nightly routine, whatever _that _constituted. None of that mattered for Lincoln and Johnny's purpose, however. It was - Lincoln checked his watch - currently 4:00. The Louds would be just sitting down at the table with their books and worksheets. "Give it a few," Lincoln said. "Let them get settled in."

Johnny drummed his fingers on the window sill and twitched with nervous energy. Lincoln stroked Cinnamon between the eyes with his finger. He could be playing _Primus _right now. Instead he was -

"Uh-oh," Johnny said, and Lincoln looked up.

"What?"

"It's Ronnie Anne."

Lincoln sagged. Ronnie Anne Santiago was his and Johnny's...uh...what's the term for someone you both like and hate at the same time? Frienemy came to mind, so he'd go with that; she was their frenemy. They had known her since pre-k and they never really got along with her. She was loud, rude, bossy, and she'd take a toy right out of your hand if she took it into her head. When her brother, Bobby, started dating Lori last year, however, she got funny and started picking on Lincoln mad hard. Shoved a slice of pizza down his pants, punched him in the back of his head, called him a buck-tooth lame-o with a limp handshake, you know, typical sadistic bully stuff. Lincoln took it because what was he gonna do? Johnny started picking on her in return and it turned into a metaphorical three way slap fight. One day Lincoln and Johnny were walking home when they stumbled across her sitting on a bench and looking sad. Johnny wanted to ignore her, but the hangdog expression in her eyes cut Lincoln deeply and even though she was a female asshole, he sat beside her and asked what was wrong.

Turns out, she and Bobby were really close and when he started dating that shewolf Lori (at least that's what RA called her), Bobby got kind of distant. He was all about Lori, and suddenly RA didn't have her big brother around anymore.

Since their talk, he and Johnny had been cool with RA, but it was the fragile kind of peace that exists along a disputed border, or between Israel and the Arabs.

Lincoln got to his knees and peered out the window; Ronnie Anne was coming up the walk, her hand shoved into the pockets of her purple hoodie. A tall Hispanic girl with chopped black hair that barely reached her shoulders, she wore a skirt and purple socks pulled up to her knees. Her brow was set in an angry V and her eyes flashed with malice. To be fair, she always looked that way.

As one, Johnny and Lincoln ducked out of sight. The doorbell rang, and they winced. "What does she want?" Lincoln asked.

"I dunno," Johnny said, "but she's going to ruin our plans."

The doorbell rang again, twice in rapid succession. A minute later, heavy footsteps ascended the stairs and Ronnie Anne came into the room. Johnny tensed and Lincoln held his breath.

Without a word, she flung herself onto the bed and propped her legs up in an M. "I swear, I could kill Lori," she said.

She kicked one leg up and crossed her arms. The bottom of her shoe was caked in mud, and clumps littered the bed. "Uh...can you get off my bed?" Johnny asked. "You're getting mud all over it."

RA shot him a dirty look, then ground her feet into the cover. "Forget your bed, knucklehead, forget you bed."

Johnny sighed and hung his head.

"Like I was saying," RA said and sat up, "she's hogging Bobby and I'm sick of her. I wanna get back at her somehow."

Johnny cracked a grin. "Yeah? Check it, we're about to prank the Louds."

RA's brow furrowed seriously. "I'm listening."

Johnny got to his feet. "Come on." He went about the foot of the bed and left the room. RA followed, and in a few minutes, they were stealing across the front lawn at a crouch like two ninjas creeping through the dark. Lincoln knelt in front of the window and rolled his eyes. He picked up the radio, depressed the talk button, and said, "You're acting suspicious, knock it off."

Down below, they both stood up straight and moseyed across the street, trying to look innocent but looking guilty instead. Aw, jeez. He glanced at Sergio, who roosted on his shoulder, and the bird seemed to share his vexation.

Across the street, Johnny and Ronnie Anne disappeared around the house. Lincoln leaned forward and gripped the sill, his heart starting to race. He clamped his bottom lip between his teeth and steeled himself. He and Johnny made the fart bomb using knowledge they had acquired from Luan, Lisa, and Lana, and he knew it would work...but how well? Enough to clear the room? Or would it fizzle and produce a quick whiff of rotten eggs?

Suddenly, Johnny and RA dashed out from around the corner and darted across the street. Behind them, the Loud house seemed to tremble, and a jet of green smoke shot up from the chimney. The world shuddered, and Lincoln's heart jumped into his throat. RA and Johnny got back, panting and wheezing from the run, just as 1216's front door opened and Luna stumbled out. Green smoke billowed out around her, and Lincoln's nose pinched at the smell.

Johnny dropped onto the bed and caught his breath, and RA knelt next to Lincoln. Luna knelt in her front yard, coughing and hacking, and Luan and Lana lay on their sides, dry retching. Leni staggered out from the mist rolling through the door, then Lori. "Ha," RA said, "how do you like it, Lori?"

Lynn came out next, Lisa and Lola clinging to her back like monkeys, then Mr. and Mrs. Loud, Mr. Loud holding Lily, who, impossibly, wore a tiny baby-sized gas mask. Johnny wedged between Lincoln and Ronnie Anne, then slapped his hand to his nose. "Aw, man, that _reeks_."

"Smells like payback," Ronnie Anne said. She took a deep breath and let it out in a dreamy sigh. Johnny and Lincoln looked at each other. _Something's wrong with this girl, _Johnny seemed to say.

_I know, _Lincoln replied.

Mr. Loud sat in the middle of the lawn, knees hugged to his chest, and rocked back and forth like the shell-shocked survivor of a monster tornado. Lucy waved her hand in front of her face and Lana sniffed the air like a tiny dog. "This is making me hungry," Lincoln heard her say.

"We got 'em," Johnny said.

"We sure did," RA replied.

"Still not as fun as _Primus,_" Lincoln said.

RA rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut up, you suck at _Primus_."

Lincoln finched. "No I don't."

Johnny laughed. "Yes you do, dude. You've never even made it past level three."

Lincoln opened his mouth to argue but couldn't. As much as he enjoyed playing _Primus_, he _was _pretty bad at it. He always got hung up on level three, where non-elucardian shapes and sub geometric patterns formed the background to the action. It gave him a headache and made him feel like he was going to throw up. "You barely made it past," he said because what else could he say?

"So?" Johnny asked smugly. "I made it past, that's all that matters."

Lincoln opened his mouth but Ronnie Anne's phone cut him off. She checked it, then got to her feet. "That's my mom, I gotta go. Nice pranking with you losers." She punched Johnny's arm, then Lincoln's. It felt like being shot and even after she was gone, stinging tears welled in his eyes. Johnny rubbed the spot she hit and hissed through his teeth.

"No pain, no gain," the older boy said with a sheepish smile.

That didn't make sense but whatever. The prank was done, the Louds were starting to go back in, and Lincoln wouldn't get to play _Primus _until tomorrow.

On the bright side, ARGGH! came on in less than three hours.

Now _that _was something to get excited about.

Lincoln and sat side-by-side at the dinner table, their mother across from them and Dad at the head of a table like a banqueting king. Bald and bullish with a neck like a pack of Hewbrew National, his gut strained against his dingy yellow wife beater and every so often, a pea or dollop of mashed potatoes dropped from his fork and disappeared into the folds of his man breasts. Mom, her snowy white hair held back from her forehead by an orange clip, ate sparingly, like a finicky bird. People could never get over how much Lincoln looked like his mother; it was almost like she was an R'63 genderswap version of him...or he of her. Neither boy looked particularly like their father, and some people said they were the milkman's kids. That was false. Their long time milkman was white.

And gay.

"You boys do your homework?" Dad asked.

"Yes, sir," Johnny and Lincoln said in unison.

"Your room clean?"

"Yes, sir."

Mom took a drink of iced tea, then picked up a serving bowl filled with peas. "Would you like more, sweetie?" she asked them.

"No, ma'am."

After dinner, Lincoln and Johnny cleared the table and did the dishes. Johnny washed and Lincoln dried, then wiped down the counter and put the leftovers away. Dad said that chores were the Lord's way of keeping ones' hands busy (idle hands do the Devil's work, you know), and Lincoln had to reluctantly agree with him.

As he cleaned the stove, he kept one eye on the Felix the cat clock on the wall: Its tail swished back and forth with every second, and the hand crept ever closer to ARGGH time. Lincoln was pumped. With any luck, Hunter Specter would encounter the ghost of the Weeping Woman, the spirit said to stand in a corner facing the wall. Legend has it that if you approach her, she'll turn around and steal your face because she doesn't have one of her own.

Spooky.

Five minutes before the appointed time, Lincoln and Johnny went into the living room, but came up short.

Aw, man.

Dad sat in his Lazy-Boy with his feet propped up and a can between his legs. On TNT, AEW Dynamite was on: Two guys grappled in the middle of the ring while Jim Ross and Tony Schivone called the play-by-play. Dad was a huge wrestling fan and believed, even as an almost forty year old man, that it was real. _I watched Undertaker send Mankind through the top of a cage at King of the Ring, _he said once, _that wasn't fake. _

Sure it wasn't, Dad.

Lincoln slumped his shoulders, then remembered something.

The livestream.

Upstairs, he and Johnny sat on Johnny's bed and Lincoln fired up his laptop. "Thank God for streaming," Lincoln said.

A voice drifted through the window, and Lincoln strained to hear it. It sounded mournful. "What was that?" Johnny asked.

"I don't know," Lincoln said and sat his computer aside, "but we'd better have a look."

They got up, went to the window, and knelt. Outside, it was full dark and stars twinkled in the sky overhead like flecks on ice on black velvet. The houses up and down the street all blazed with light...except for 1216.

Lynn Sr. and the others stood in a big group on the front lawn. "...the stink was so bad it corroded the breaker box," Lisa explained to no one in particular, "and therefore, we have lost power."

"What?" Lola and Lana cried. "But ARGGH!"

"We'll just have to skip it."

Everyone started talking over each other. Luna sank to her knees and let out a bereaved cry, Lori sobbed that she "literally couldn't miss this episode", Luan hung her head, Lucy threw her head back and asked, "powers of darkness, why have you forsaken me?"

Lincoln winced. Missing ARGGH was a fate worse than death. He turned to his older brother and glared at him. Johnny offered a sheepish smile. "Good going, they're going to miss ARGGH because of you."

A look of guilt crossed Johnny's face and he hung his head much the way Luan had. He was a mischief making little punk sometimes, but he was cursed - as was Lincoln - with their mother's heart and compassion. He knew he messed up big time and he was sorry. It was hard to stay mad at him under the circumstances, but Lincoln did anyway. Without a single ounce of effort, he put himself into the Loud girls shoes and he didn't like what he saw. If it was him out there, left in the dark and facing the ugly prospect of missing ARGGH, he'd be crushed, devastated, beside himself with fury, hopelessness, and plain old sadness...so, so much sadness. "You just _had _to let your hubris get the best of you," he said, "you just _had _to get your sick kicks at other peoples' expense. What's next, you gonna steal my lunch money? You gonna shove Ronnie Anne down a flight of stairs? You gonna set Sid, Stella, and Liam on fire like a pyro?"

Sid, Stella, and Liam were his and Johnny's friends at Royal County Elementary. Lincoln and Johnny had a bad reputation in town for scamming people - hey, Dad wasn't exactly liberal with allowance - and no one trusted them. For the longest time, they sat alone at lunch next to the wall like in the Diary of a Wimpy Kid books, outcasted and reviled by their classmates. Stella and Sid felt bad for them and sat with them one day. The only kids in the entire school who even tried...and Johnny was gonna set them on fire, wasn't he?

Lincoln realized what he was thinking and blinked. No, he wouldn't do that. Sigh, he just made a mistake, that's all.

"I'm sorry," Johnny said earnestly, "I didn't mean to, I was just having fun. I didn't think it'd knock their power out. You gotta believe me, Linc."

Lincoln took a deep breath. "Alright. Still, they're gonna miss ARGGH."

An idea struck him.

"Unless…"

Johnny looked up, puzzled. "What?"

Lincoln opened his mouth but closed it again. Did he really want to do this? Did he _really? _No. He did not. On the other hand, how many times had the Loud girls helped them out? Lori with her video game advice, Leni with her fashion tips - Jeez, Luna spent _hours _helping Johnny learn to play _Whole Lotta Rosie, _and even though he stank, she never lost her patience, never snapped, never even told him how much he stank. She was endlessly patient and encouraging. Lynn tackled like a freight train, but she never tackled Lincoln as hard as she did everyone else because she knew his brittle bones couldn't take it. Lucy, Luan, Lana - man, the list went on and on. The Louds were a school of piranha sometimes, but they were always good to him and Johnny. What kind of friend - what kind of _person _\- would Lincoln be if he wasn't willing to help them out in their time of need?

A real dirtbag.

He'd be a colossal dirtbag and he would never be able to live with himself. Every time he looked in the mirror until the day he died, he would see the selfish little buck-tooth boy who turned his back on his friends when they needed him.

No.

Not today.

"What?" Johnny pressed.

By way of answering, Lincoln lifted the screen and stuck his head out the window. Warm night air redolent of flowers caressed his face and the distant hiss of traffic on the highway two miles to the west found his ears. Mr. Loud was on his knees now and sobbing into his hands. "Why?" he lamented. "Why me?"

Lincoln took a deep breath. "Hey!" he called.

The Louds turned, all looking sad and miserable, as though a beloved relative had just croaked out in front of them. Lincoln nervously rubbed the back of his neck and took a deep breath. "Do ?"

"Y'all wanna come watch ARGGH with us?" Johnny cut in.

Everyone perked out, and all of a sudden, all twelve of them made a madcap dash across the street, cheering, pumping their fists, and, in Mr. Loud's case, shaking their butts and chanting, "I get to watch ARRGH to-night! I get to watch ARGGH to-night!"

Five minutes later, Lincoln and Johnny sat on Johnny's bed while the Louds crowded around. Lori entered with a bowl of popcorn, Leni fetched a fifteen-pack of Chocolate Cherry Cola from Lincoln's stash, and Luna played air guitar. "Alright, man, let's watch some ghostage!"

"I hope he wrestles a ghosts," Lynn Jr. said and pumped her fist. She grabbed Luan in a sleeper hold, and Luan cried out. "Tap out, Chuckles."

Luan's face turned purple and she thrashed against her sister's attack. Lori wedged herself between Lincoln and Johnny. She crossed her legs, sat the bowl in her lap, and tossed a handful of popcorn into her mouth. 'Thanks for inviting us over," she said, "you guys are literally lifesavers."

"No problem," Lincoln said.

"It's the least we could do," Johnny said through a penitent smile.

Lucy leaned over Johnny, plucked a kernel of popcorn, and held it up to examine it like a jeweler studying a precious stone. "This one looks like a skull," she deadpanned. She clamped it between her teeth and bit down slowly, probably imagining bone cracking and turning to dust on her tongue.

Lily crawled up next to Johnny and batted her eyelashes. "Poo-poo," she purred.

Johnny chuckled nervously. "Uh...hi."

She laid her head affectionately on his knee and he tensed, then gave her back a stiff pat.

"Lynn Jr.!" Mr. Loud cried. He was wearing a Hunter Spectre mask and only his hard-set eyes were visible. "Let go of your sister."

Reproached, Lynn undhanded Luan, and Luan sank to the floor, coughing and clawing at her throat. Leni slammed a Chocolate Cherry Cola, then opened another. She threw it back and some of the contents sluiced down the sides of her mouth in brown rivulets. "Like, this stuff is SO good." A mad look crept into her eyes and she trembled like a high tension wire.

"I think that's enough of the sugar," Lincoln said.

He reached to take Leni's third cola away from her, but she spun on him, teeth sharp and eyes blazing. "I'll tell you when I've had enough, white hair!"

"Leni!" Mrs. Loud cried, appalled. Her face was hidden behind a big foam finger shaped like a ghost.

Len seemed to regain her senses, then stuck out her bottom lip. "I mean...just one more. Please?"

"Sure," Lincoln said. He wasn't going to make the mistake of getting between her and her soda ever again.

At the foot of the bed, Lana and Lola argued over a toy, one pulling left and the other pulling right. "It's mine!" Lola squeal.

"No, it's mine," he twin replied.

Lynn snatched it away, tossed it into the air, and caught it one handed, a smug smile spreading across her lips. "You know the rules, if you fight over it, it automatically belongs to -"

Screeching a primal battle cry, Lana and Lola pounced Lynn and smashed into her as one, knocking her backwards. She hit the nightstand and fell to the floor. The lamp wobbled and almost fell, but at the last minute, Lincoln shot out his hand and saved it. Whew.

"Knock it off," Mr. Loud called. "The show's starting."

The ARRGH logo flashed across the screen and the spooky theme music played. Lincoln settled in, munched popcorn, and drank Chocolate Cherry Cola until his bladder burst. The Loud girls talked, screamed in terror when Hunter encountered a ghost that turned out to be a curtain fluttering in the breeze, and bickered back and forth the entire time, but you know what? Lincoln enjoyed himself, and that night, he realized that while doing things might be great, it's the people you do them with who really make them special.

Johnny felt the same way. "You know," he said, "I'm kind of glad I accidentally knocked out your power."

Lincoln's heart sank.

"Yeah," Lori said, "so am - wait, that fart bomb came from YOU?"

The Loud all glared at Johnny, and Johnny flashed a big, toothy smile.

Lincoln realized something else that night.

Girls can hit just as hard as boys.

THE END.


	2. Making the Case

Lincoln was a straight up failure.

Eleven and scrawny with slicked back hair, he fronted like he was confident, but deep down, in his heart of heart of hearts, he carried a tiny flicker of self-doubt that sometimes ignited into a raging inferno. He was quick-witted, conniving, and could talk a priest into sin, but that's pretty much where his ability ended. He was physically weak, painfully thin, a giant geekasaurus, and kind of klutzy. He couldn't play sports, he couldn't fix things, he could barely spell, he...he was a loser, okay? He had never won anything in his life (except for the contempt of his peers) and that was a bitter pill to swallow, but what choice did he have?

It wouldn't have been so bad if he didn't live across the street from the frickin' House of Talent. Three stories with a slate roof, dormers, and a big oak tree in the front yard, 1216 Franklin Avenue was home to a star athelete, a super genius super toddler, a charming and stunningly beautiful comedian (whom Lincoln had a crush on), a budding fashion designer, Miss Fix-It herself, a beauty queen, the next Stephen King, a gifted musician, and a bunch of other people who didn't suck.

Sometimes, he sat in his bedroom window and watched the place with a pair of binoculars hoping to catch a glimpse of Luan (please don't tell anyone, they'd think he was a creeper!), and without fail, he caught the Loud girls carrying armloads of trophies inside instead. Plaques, certificates, degrees, a Jr. Nobel Prize, man, the works.

You know that episode of _Spongebob _where SB keeps getting trophies and Patrick gets salty about it because he doesn't have any?

Yeah.

Too close to home.

Then you had Johnny. Oh, and Mom. She was so good at gardening that she won accolades from the Home Owners' Association every year and got her picture in the paper. Last year, Dad won a trip to attend an _AEW Dynamite _show and got to meet Jim Ross, his favorite announcer. The only "award" he had was a framed photo of him shaking Jim Ross's hand and wearing his cowboy hat. It sat in a place of honor on the mantle like a holy relic, and every time Lincoln saw it, he glowered. Even Dad has a trophy. Ugh.

Before long, Lincoln's feelings of inadequacy started getting to him, and he got desperate.

Enter the Fifth Grade Video Contest.

Mrs. Johnson announced it on a Friday in May. Each student would make a video and post it online. The one with the most votes after a week would win a sick trophy shaped like an old school movie camera and some film.

It was beautiful, and Lincoln decided that he wanted it.

That Saturday, he made a video of himself sliding down the stairs in a plastic tote (dressed in goggles and a scarf like a WWI ace). It hit the bottom, tipped, and threw him into the wall, crash test dummy style. It wasn't the greatest or most original stunt, but it was funny, especially since he did his best Josh from _Drake and Josh _and cred, "I'm comin', Oprah!" on the way down. The best part was how he crashed head first into the wall. Johnny, who shot it, fell out laughing, and when he watched it, Lincoln almost peed himself. This was comedy gold! He'd win that trophy for sure!

Only it didn't go down like that.

He posted the video Saturday afternoon, giddy as a kid on Christmas, and sat before the computer screen for three hours, on the edge of his seat, waiting for dem likes to come in.

They did not.

_No _one liked it. He honestly couldn't understand why. He smashed his head against a wall while screaming about Oprah, people should be lapping this up.

He decided to check out the competition, and that's when he found out where all those likes were going.

Hampsta-Cam, a 24 hour live feed of a hamster in its cage.

Seriously, he was getting his butt kicked by a rodent.

It wasn't even interesting! Look, Mr. Fluffums was cute and all, but that can only get you so far. If he did tricks or wore a silly hat, Lincoln would understand and (begrudgingly) concede defeat. _Welp, guess I have to win somewhere else. _But all Mr. F. did was eat, poop, and run in circles in his hamster wheel. Like seriously? People are voting for _this? _Oh, come on! He could take losing, but at least let it be to a person and not a glorified plague rat.

On Sunday evening, he sat dejectedly in front of the ancient 90s model PC in his and Johnny's room while Johnny reclined on his bed and paged through an old comic book they found in a box in the attic. _Alex and Jessy Fight Evil. _Lincoln sighed and looked up at the screen, where his video remained unliked and unappreciated...just like him. It only had five views, and he was pretty sure at least four came from him.

Ruined.

He was ruined.

All washed up.

Out like yesterday's paper.

But unlike yesterday's paper, he was never in to begin with.

Where did he do wrong? Was he cursed? He must be. Everything he touched bombed worse than _Cats. _He was basically that Vince Russo guy talked about, only Vince Russo did a couple of things right. Lincoln? Not'a one.

Sigh.

He'd just crawl into bed and mope for a while.

He started to close out of the screen, but at the last minute, a review popped up. Lincoln's heart jumped into his throat and sat forward. Hot diggity dog, someone watched his video!

_Nice try, _it said, _but you should see ur nayber Luan for some pointers. _The username was LOL PRODUCTIONS.

His stomach clutched.

Luan, she of the sweet, lisping angel song, big brown eyes, and kissable lips. His eyes rolled back into his head and his mouth turned into a hazy, love-struck squiggle. The musical sound of her laughter wrapped itself around him like a warm hug and a vision of her face formed in his mind's eye.

She said to come see her for advice and now it was all clear to him; He should have done that in the first place. Luan ran a successful comedy website with thousands of followers and was a frickin' rock star on the birthday party/bar mitzvah circuit. If anyone could help him make an epic laff-vid, it would be her.

The next morning, Lincoln woke to the sound of the alarm. He leaned over, slapped the OFF button, and stretched. In the next bed over, Johnny rolled onto his back and smacked his lips tiredly together. "Time to do this again," he muttered.

Johnny wasn't a morning person. He was like their mom: It took him six cups of coffee, a Monster, caffeine pills, and a sacrifice to the Old Ones to get going. Speaking of Old Ones,he slept deeper than Cthulhu, which meant you could do almost anything to him and he'd be clueless.

"Yeah," Lincoln mumbled and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Time to face all his peers as the guy losing so hard Beck wanted to write a song about him. Every other video had at least one like; his was the only one with zero. The other kids were going to roast him, he just knew it.

Maybe they weren't paying attention.

Yeah, because they were all too busy kissing hAmStA CaM's butt. Oooh, look, he pooped again, let me make an alt account and LIKE IT AGAIN.

Sighing, he got out of bed, and Johnny held his hand up. Instead of grabbing it and pulling his brother to his feet, Lincoln gave it the cold shoulder and shuffled to his dresser. "Really?" Johnny asked.

"Get bent," Lincoln said.

"Bro," Johnny said, a warning in his voice, "don't even start this self-pitying crap. It's your own fault for making a dumb video no one wants to see."

His words struck Lincoln like a hail of bullets. "Yeah, you couldn't do any better."

Johnny's idea for an epic video was a Hampsta Cam knock off called Dad Cam, a continuous live stream of their father's recliner. Half the day it'd be completely empty, and the other half it'd be occupied by a big, sweaty black man in a dingy wife beater and his tighty whities. Watch...him munch on Cheese Nips. See...him shake his fist at Friday Night Smackdown. Hear...his chainsaw tier snores.

That was literally Johnny's tagline.

"I wasn't trying," Johnny said dismissively. "If I wanted to, I could make a video so good _everyone _would like it. It'd be like the Jeb Bush meme Dad keeps sharing on Facebook."

Ah, yes, the one with Jeb Bush standing in front of a map of the US on election night, and every state is his color because literally every single American realized he was the best candidate ever and voted for him. "No it wouldn't," Lincoln said. "It'd get negative likes."

"That's not even possible," Johnny shot back.

"It is for you because you suck."

Johnny took a deep breath, and Lincoln steeled himself for an attack. "Look," Johnny said evenly, "I know you're upset about not having a trophy or whatever, but you need to relax. So what you're a complete failure at everything you try? So what you throw like a girl, fall down a lot, and all that other stuff? You're still a great dude when you're not acting like a little baby."

Was that supposed to make him feel better or worse? "It _does _matter," Lincoln said, "I'm losing to the most boring video ever. Like...I'm worse than a hamster." His lips quivered and inexplicable tears welled in his eyes. He blinked them away and swallowed around a lump of emotion.

"No you're not," Johnny said. He threw the blankets off, sat up, and stretched. "Everyone else is losing to Hampsta Cam too."

True, but...everyone else wasn't a failboi like him. They were normal, well-adjusted kids who won every once in a while. They had plaques and awards coming out their ears, he just _knew _it. Meanwhile, he had nothing but a video with no likes and -

It hit him.

Luan!

He totally forgot. With her help, he'd make the most side-splitting video ever.

Filled with renewed hope, he got dressed and went downstairs while Johnny showered. As soon as he hit the bottom step, the aroma of bacon and eggs grabbed him by his nose and planted a tantalizing kiss on his lips. His stomach rumbled and a long tendril of olfactory stimulation dragged him into the kitchen, where his mother bustled back and forth between the stove and the toaster. Harried strands of hair stuck out from her snowy tresses and dark bags hung beneath her bloodshot eyes. Her skirt and orange blouse were both rumpled, and her hands jittered with nervous tension like overwrought power lines. Dad sat at the table and read from the morning paper, the atmosphere around him charged with static electricity like the air before a thunderstorm.

"Good morning," Mom said and slapped a piece of toast onto a plate.

"Morning," Lincoln said.

Without being asked, he set the table and refilled his father's coffee. Johnny came in just as he sat down and Lincoln rolled his eyes. Johnny said he liked taking his showers in the morning because they "woke him up" but he really did it to avoid having to do any work. And every morning, Lincoln forgot that fact until Johnny strode in looking smug.

Not only was Lincoln a failure, he was a mark, just like the kids he and Johnny scammed at school.

Now he felt even worse.

Mom sat their plates before them and dropped into her chair. Dad had the biggest portion because he was the king of the castle and always got the most, a fact to which his bulging gut could attest. "I tried something new with the eggs," Mom said, "tell me what you think."

They looked normal, but when Lincoln leaned in to sniff them, he detected the distinctive scent of cinnamon. He gingerly carved a piece off, stabbed it with his fork, and lifted it to his lips. Johnny watched expectantly, and when Lincoln paused, not sure if he wanted to put cinnamon-flavored egg in his mouth, he rammed his elbow into his side. Lincoln responded by throwing his hand out and knocking Johnny's paper-bag hat off. "Dude!"

Lincoln started to reply but stopped dead when he realized Dad was glaring at them over the top of the paper. He and Johnny both uttered a nervous laugh and dug in, nether caring about cinnamon in their eggs just so long as it kept Dad off their backs. Guy was built like a hot water heater and was just dying to try out those wrestling moves he saw every week on Fox and TNT. _Reverse butt-lock DDP, aw mah gawd! _Dad went back to the sports section, and Lincoln breathed a sigh of relief. I get to keep my butt, yay.

As sorry and unaccomplished as it was.

On second thought, you can have it.

After breakfast, Johnny washed the dishes while Dad lumbered off to work and Mom zipped around the house dusting this, that, and the other thing like Patrick getting ready for his parents. Sometimes Lincoln thought his mother was ADHD; she could never sit down for more than five minutes without getting restless and starting some kind of project. She was the type of person who'd take a bookshelf apart just to move it three inches and put it back together again.

When the dishes were done, Lincoln slipped into his jacket, slung his backpack over one shoulder, and left the house ahead of Johnny. The day was crisp and damp, rain drizzling from the leaden sky and a wet wind blowing from the west. The trees up and down the street blazed with color and fallen leaves plastered the street and sidewalk. "I'm going to see Luan after school," Lincoln said.

"Yeah," Johnny said, "through some binoculars. Like a weirdo."

Lincoln bristled. "No, I mean I'm going to talk to her. About helping me make a better video."

"That's a good idea, actually," Johnny said, "I don't know why we didn't think of that sooner."

"Right?"

Royal County Elementary sat at the end of a dead end street lined with houses and dense trees. Its big window watched the kids streaming toward it with unbridled hunger, like a fairy tale monster, and Lincoln felt an unexplainable twist of apprehension. Inside, a four-way intersection provided access to the bowels of the building - the small and large intestines of academic excellence, Johnny called it - and the main office was abuzz with activity. Lincoln and Johnny parted ways, and Lincoln spent the majority of the morning staring out the window with his chin in his palm and daydreaming about how awesome his video would be once Luan helped him. A few times in the hall between classes, kids called out to him, only instead of Lincoln, Linc, or Lincmeister (his personal favorite), it was "No-Likes." _What up, No-Likes? _and _Here comes No-Likes. Everyone press F. _

Apparently they _weren't _too busy kissing Hampsta Cam's butt to notice his legendary crash and burn.

During lunch, he sat at his usual table by the wall with Johnny and their friends, Sid, Stella, and Liam. Sid and Stella were both Asian, the latter more so than the former, and Liam was a red head with a Moe Howard bowl cut, fair skin, and an accent that Lincoln could never place. Funny thing was, Liam had lived his entire life in Royal Woods and had never even left the state of Michigan. Why he sounded like a Kentucky clodhopper, Lincoln would never know.

Though Lincoln had been the victim of taunting all morning, here with his friends, he was safe from mention of that dumb video stream.

"Did you guys see Hampsta Cam this morning?" Stella asked.

Darn it.

Guess not.

Suddenly the entire table erupted in excited chatter, and Lincoln threw his head back with a groan. How do you hire a mob hitman? Would they even take out something as small as a hamster? He had some Christmas and birthday money saved up. Hmmm.

"It was _so _cute," Sid said and waved her hand. Small and wispy in a blue sweater that slipped down to expose her freckled shoulders, Sid was a recent transplant from Great Lakes City, where her family ran a market in the Little Philippines district. She had a little sister who was in Lisa's class. From what Lincoln heard, they got along.

Stella fisted her hands to her chest and nodded eagerly, her mouth spread in a big, stupid grin. "I love Hampsta Cam. It's the best thing ever."

"It's a hampster," Lincoln blurted and tossed his hands up. "What's so cool about a dumb hampster?"

Sid, Stela, and Liam all gasped and shrank back as if he had just said something totally insane - like that _Cats _was a good movie. "Whoa there, hoss," Liam said, "Mr. Fluffums' ain't dumb."

"Yeah," Sid shot back, her eyes narrowed to slits. "Mr. Fluffums is the best and cutest hamster ever."

IT WAS A HAMSTER! It didn't do anything. The video feed was the same thing FOR LITERALLY HOURS.! Lincoln's face flushed and his teeth clenched. He was gonna lose it, and when he did, he'd blow like a nuclear warhead. Sid, Stella, the school, the town, everything would be consumed in the righteous flames of his world-ending wrath.

Then Stella took all the wind out of his sails and left him limp and dead on the floor. "You're just mad because Hampsta Cam is beating you. No-Likes."

Her lips formed his hated nickname in slow motion, and Lincoln winced as though he'd been shot. "Come on, guys," Sid said. She picked up her tray and got to her feet. "Let's go somewhere where Mr. Fluffums' _isn't _hated."

"Yeah," Stella agreed.

They filed off, leaving Lincoln and Johnny alone, and Lincoln hung his head. Great, now his friends thought he was a Mr. Fluffums hater. To be clear, he was, but still. "Way to go, Stincoln,' Johnny said, "you ran off our lunch group."

"Shut up," Lincoln grumbled. He knew he ran their lunch group off. Did Johnny really have to rub it in?

"Dude, you're making me mad," Johnny said firmly. "You need to put some balm on your burned up little butt and - "

Before he could stop himself, Lincoln jammed the heel of his palm hard into Johnny's shoulder, knocking him back. Johnny's face darkened...then he lunged at Lincoln with a womanly squeal. He crashed into him and they fell onto the floor in a heap, Johnny on top. He splayed his hand on Lincoln's face and pinned his head to the tiles. Lincoln kicked and thrashed, a stream of words (some not appropriate for a T-rated fan fiction) exploding from his throat. He brought his knee up and hit Johnny between the legs. Johnny's eyes widened and the fight left him so fast it left flaming skid marks in its wake.

Lincoln capitalized and threw his brother off. Kids gathered around them in a tight circle and chanted "Fight! Fight! Fight!"

Getting to his hands and knees, Lincoln shook his head. All of his rage over being punked by a hampster rushed up to the surface and his face turned bright red. He was going to smash, destroy, and maim everything in his wake. Starting with Johnny. _You ran our lunch group off_. Yeah, well, now I'm going to run your face off.

He staggered to his feet just as Johnny got to his. Their eyes locked, and carefully, they began to circle each other like wrestlers in the ring. Lincoln imagined Jim Ross calling play-by-play; the chants were intoxicating, his fans screaming for blood, his or Johnny's, they didn't care. For a moment, neither made a move, then they launched themselves at each other and locked up. Johnny slipped behind Lincoln and wrapped his forearm around Lincoln's throat; Lincoln hooked his arm behind Johnny's neck and tried to fling him over his shoulder.

Just then, the crowd parted, and Mr. Wyman, the school resource officer, stepped into the fray. A short, morbidly obese man in a brown and tan police uniform, Mr. Wayman was the law around these parts, but Lincoln didn't care, he was done being roasted by hamsters and idiots who wore paper bags on their heads.

"Hey, knock it off," Mr. Wyman called. He ripped them apart and yanked them off the ground, one dangling from his left hand and the other from his right like a pair of naughty kittens in their mother's maw.

"He started it!" Lincoln cried and kicked his legs.

"No I didn't, he did! I wanna press charges!" He shot Lincoln a dirty look. "You're going to jail, buddy. Say hi to Big Bubba for me."

Lincoln tried to grab him, but Mr. Wyman swung them around. "Alright, you two, you're coming downtown."

Lincoln and Johnny both froze.

D-Downtown?

Like…

JAIL?

As it turned out, 'downtown' was Mr. Wayman speak for 'detention.' Because Lincoln and Johnny were brothers and attacked each other at least once a week, no one in the front office took the fight seriously. Thank God, no one called Dad.

At the end of the day, they were released from custody and walked home through the failing afternoon light like nothing had happened. Their spats, though often ferocious, were always short-lived and forgotten just as quickly as they arose. That was brotherhood, Lincoln figured; you beat your bro down then help him back up and have an adult beverage with him. Since he and Johnny weren't adults yet, they'd have to settle on some apple juice when they got home. "Mr. Porter was smelling funky today, huh?" Johnny asked.

Mr. Porter was the in-school suspension...uh...teacher? Could you really call the guy who watched over the kids in ISS a "teacher"? He was a teacher in general, but detention isn't a class and -

Nevermind. Fat, pale, and sweaty, Mr. Porter had a well-deserved reputation for stinking, and today, he was at peak performance.

"Don't remind me," Lincoln said. "Guy needs a better deodorant."

"He needs to take a bath every once in a while."

They were on Franklin Avenue now, the Loud House ahead on the right. The oak tree in the front yard screened its grimy facade and its pitched roof thrust into the sky like a hand hailing a cab. By unspoken consent, Lincoln and Johnny crossed the street, cut across the lawn, and went up the steps. Lincoln knocked, and a few minutes later, Lana opened the door. She looked from Lincoln to Johnny, then blushed deeply, her white skin turning dark red. All of the Loud girls from Lynn down to Lily had a crush on Johnny.

"Hey," Lincoln said with a curt nod, "is Luan here?"

Lana rubbed the back of her neck and nervously ducked her head. "Uh...yeah, come in."

They found Luan in hers and Luna's room. She perched on the edge of the dresser with her legs crossed and her dummy Mr. Coconuts in her lap. "And that's when I said...boy, you sure know how to hold them!"

She broke out laughing and waved her hand (_stop, stop, you're killing me_). Lincoln let out a dreamy sigh and almost melted into a puddle...but held himself together. He wasn't here for that. He was here on _business_.

When Luan turned her big brown eyes on him, however, his mind blanked. "Hey, Linc," she piped. "Hey, Johnny, what'cha guys up to?"

What _were _they up to?

Oh, right.

"I need help," Lincoln said. "With my project."

Luan jumped down from the dresser and tossed Mr. Coconuts onto her bed. "The video thing, right?"

"Yeah," Lincoln, "um...I'm kind of bombing."

"I noticed," Luan said. "I mean..._I'm coming, Oprah? _Really? That was _not _funny. It was cringe. Pure, high octane crnge."

Oh, come on, it wasn't that bad, was it?

He started to say that, but Luan swept past him and went to the closet. "Let me get my camera and we can get started." She opened the door, and Lincoln was surprised to see stacks and stacks of video tapes crammed into the space.

One had his name on it.

He blinked. "Uh...Luan?"

"Yeah, Linc?"

"Why is there a video tape labeled Lincoln in your closet?"

"Because I take videos of you sometimes. You're hilarious when you're not trying." She picked the video up, went to her desk, and shoved it into the VCR. Lincoln and Johnny exchanged a bemused glance, then turned to the TV. Onscreen, Lincoln walked across his front yard...then stepped on a rake. It swung up and hit him in the face. "Ow," he moaned.

The scene jumped to him sitting in a bubble bath full of toys and rubber duckies. His jaw hit his chest and Johnny burst into laughter. Bath-Linc slicked his hair back with soap and tossed his head from side-to-side. "_I got a voice...I love to sing...I sing like a girl…"_

Lincoln sprang at the TV and hit the OFF button. Johnny and Luan were both laughing hysterically and Lincoln's face burned with shame. "You're a laugh riot," Luan said, "you can win that trophy for sure."

He started to scold her (why do you even have this video?), but an idea struck him.

"Luan!" Leni called from down the hall. "I need help. I'm stuck in baby jail again."

Throwing her head back, Luan let out a deep sigh and got to her feet. "I'll be right back."

She got to her feet and went out into the hall. When she was gone, Lincoln pressed the EJECT button and grabbed the tape. "What are you doing?" Johnny asked.

Lincoln opened his mouth, then closed it again. Was he really going to do this? Was he really going to embarrass himself in front of the entire school...the entire world...just to wind a trophy? Did he really feel _that _bad about being an inept loser? Was he really that desperate to win?

He imagined the flush of victory as Mrs. Johnson handed him his prize. The other kids all clapped and cheered his name. Every eye beheld him...and you know what they saw?

A winner.

"Stealing this tape," he said and jammed it into his coat.

Johnny's face fell. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, no, we can't do that."

"We can and we will."

He turned, but Johnny grabbed him and spun him around to face him. "Dude, put it back."

"No," Lincoln said, "this is just what I need to win that contest."

"Humiliating yourself?" Johnny demanded.

Lincoln hesitated. "Yes. If it makes winning and not being a failure for once." He pulled away from his brother's grasp and hurried away. Johnny stared after him for a moment, not sure what to do, then followed.

"Okay, guys," Luan said as she came back into the room, "I'm ready to -"

But they were gone.

* * *

At first, Johnny wasn't down with Lincoln posting Luan's video online. One, it wasn't Lincoln's, and two...some of the stuff in there was _really _embarrassing. Like _reaaaaally _embarrassing. After he and Lincoln watched the full thing, Johnny turned to him and fixed him with a challenging gaze. _You're not posting this. _

_Yes I am,_ Lincoln replied.

_Dude, no, that's social suicide. _

A mad light gleamed in Lincoln's eye. _I don't care. I _need _to win. _

_No you don't, _Johnny said.

That's when it happened.

Lincoln rammed the heel of his palm into Johnny's shoulder just like he had at school and told him to buzz off, only he didn't say 'buzz.' Hot anger rose in Johnny's chest and he started to hit back, but instead, he did something even worse...something so messed up that he would never let himself live it down.

What he did was this: He looked at Lincoln, bared his teeth, and said, _Fine, upload it. _

And Lincoln did.

_Have fun being the laughingstock of the school, _Johnny said as he left the room.

_I will, _Lincoln said, _with my trophy._

Ohhhh, my trophy. I know what you can do with that trophy, buddy, but I can't say it out loud or Dad will make me eat a bar of soap.

Still mad from his encounter with Lincoln, Johnny left the house and walked to the park to clear his head. By the time he got there ten blocks later, his anger had gone and sickly dread had taken its place. Images from the video flickered mockingly across his mind, and his stomach flipped. Jeez, did Lincoln _really _post that thing? Was he insane? Everyone was going to see all of his most...compromising moments...and then laugh him into the Stone Age.

Was he really that determined to win?

Why?

Lincoln could be competitive - just like Johnny himself - but he was never a psycho about it. He went back to the frenzied look in his little brother's eyes, and a deep frown touched his lips. He said he felt like a loser and a failure, but Johnny kind of brushed that off. Lincoln exaggerated a lot. Maybe this time he was being serious and he really felt inferior or something.

He resolved to talk to Lincoln as soon as he got back. He turned on his heels and marched home like a soldier on his way to the front. At home, Lincoln sat behind the PC in their room and gaped at the screen, his body thrumming. Johnny bent over his shoulder to see, and was floored by what he saw.

Lincoln's little video?

It had 59 likes and 21 comments.

Johnny's mouth fell open.

_I'm gonna win, _Lincoln squeed.

Lincoln may have been desperate to win, but he wasn't so desperate that he didn't edit out ten minutes of the most embarrassing footage. From the way some of those comments sounded, people wanted more, and in a flash, Johnny, like Phineas, knew what he was going to do today. He shoved Lincoln aside and slid into his chair. _What are you doing? _Lincoln demanded.

_Bout to make some money, _Johnny said.

He set up a free website with Wix, embedded a link in the video, and offered the ten minutes Lincoln cut out for 2.99. He called it _Too Hot 4 YouTube _so people would be more inclined to buy it. _What? Too hot for YouTube? Holy wow, guys, I'll take two._ That was good marketing. Make your product seem cooler than it actually is. If he had the time, he'd make a commercial showing it flying, wearing sunglasses, hanging out with hot women, and curing male pattern baldness to appeal to that all-important 45 to 80 demographic.

Within the first hour, they made nearly a hundred bucks. At bedtime, Johnny checked the app on his phone, and that number had risen by twenty. He smiled to himself.

Posting that video was his best idea ever.

Or so he thought.

The next day when he and Lincoln walked into Royal County Elementary, every face in the crowded hall turned toward them...and everyone, _everyone,_ exploded into mocking laughter. The principal held his stomach and jabbed his finger at Lincoln, and Chandler McCann, the school bully, yelled, _Look, everyone, it's bath boy! _Johnny didn't care what others thought of him but he was mad embarrassed for Lincoln. Lincoln, however, didn't seem fazed. He went to his locker with a dreamy little smile and a spring in his step. Kids called out taunts and insults, but they were the wind beneath Lincoln's cape. Someone threw a balled up piece of paper at the back of his head, and someone else screeched, "_I sing like a girl!" _in a very Lincolnish falsetto. Stella, whose locker was next to his, saw him coming, grimaced like the sight of his terminal dorkitude physically pained her, and rushed off before any of it could rub off on her.

Maybe posting that video _wasn't _such a good idea.

His phone pinged and he took it out.

Another payment.

Actually, no, it _was _a good idea.

All that day, Johnny divided his attention between his studies and his phone, obsessively checking his and Lincoln's video. It stood at seventy-five likes. Hampsta Cam had 150. There were three days of the contest left. Lincoln's video was currently in third place. If they could get it past Hampsta Cam, they'd win.

Well, Lincoln would win, Johnny already had.

At lunch, he sat with Lincoln by the wall and gobbled down his food. Nothing makes a man quite as hungry as making bank, amirite? When he was done, he realized something. Stella, Sid, and Liam weren't around. "Where's our lunch group?" he asked.

"Over there," Lincoln said.

Everyone in the entire cafeteria was staring at Lincoln like he was a circus freak. Stella, Sid, and Liam sat with a group of kids and stole quick, suspicious glances at Lincoln, like he was going to come over and hurt them. Johnny noticed a certain tension in the air, thick and hot and crushing, and he felt suddenly uncomfortable.

On the way home, passing motorists honked their horns, and passengers stuck their heads out the window. "_It's Bath Boy!" _At first, Lincoln was unaffected, but as they got closer to home, he started to sag like a wilting flower. A block from their driveway, Flip passed in a truck so old it collected social security. The sides were rushed, the tires bald, and thick black smoke belched from the exhaust. "Nice video, Velazquest," he called. He chucked something out the window and it hit Lincoln in the head, knocking him down.

A rubber ducky.

Johnny helped him to his feet. "I'm starting to get tired of this," Lincoln said, "on the plus side, my video's in second place now."

And their account stood at 200 bucks even.

Suh-weet.

They were going up the walkway when someone called out behind them. They turned just as Luan hurried up, her face set in a hard glower. Lincoln had a major crush on Luan and Johnny ribbed him about it. _She'll wear big, floppy shoes and a red nose at your wedding, _he said, and how Lincy blushed.

She honed in on Lincoln like a laser guided missile and jabbed her finger into his face; he shrank back like a timid puppy and nearly tripped over his own feet. "You," she lisped with such fury that even Johnny recoiled.

"Me what?" Lincoln asked. He was pale and shaking.

"You stole my video and uploaded it without my permission."

Lincoln missed a beat. "Well...yeah...but -"

"Take it down," she said tightly, "and give me the master copy back. Now."

Lincoln started to speak, but Johnny cut him off. "Why did you even have that video in the first place?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Comedy," she said as though that should explain everything.

"Okay," Johnny said, "but you took that without his permission."

Luan faltered, then recovered. "So? I wasn't going to share it."

"That doesn't matter," Johnny retorted, "it was still wrong. That tape belongs to us. You can just go back across the street and fall in a cream pie." He gestured toward the Loud house.

She clenched her jaw, and a slow, red flush crept over her face. She balled her fists and shook like she was going to blow, and grabbing Lincoln by the arm, Johnny rushed him inside. He locked the door and peeked out the sidelight window. Luan stalked away, but Johnny had the feeling he and Linc would be seeing her again.

_Ping._

Another five payments.

Lincoln checked his phone.

Another five likes.

He grinned. "We got this, man," he said. "We got this by the butt."

And indeed they did.

* * *

The next day, Johnny strutted through the halls of Royal Woods Elementary like a cocksure rooster. Lincoln kept pace at his side, back bent back and lips pursed. Johnny used a stick he found on the way to school as a cane, and Lincoln wore a pair of sunglasses he picked up at Flip's the previous day. Rings glinted on their fingers and chains around their necks. Yesterday, their mom took them to the grocery store and they used some of their newfound fortune to raid the gumball machines in the foyer, which is where all the bling came from.

Everyone stepped aside as they passed, like the Red Sea parting for Moses. Johnny liked to imagine they were all looking at him and Lincoln with envy, but it looked an awful lot like pity.

At lunch, Johnny was waiting in line, Lincoln five heads behind him. "Hey, Velazquest," a firm voice said. "Nice video."

"Thanks," Lincoln replied.

"You looked really good sharting on yourself."

Johnny twisted around. Poppa Wheelie, fat, red faced, and panting, stood over Lincoln's shoulder, a mocking light in his eyes.

Huh.

He must have bought the extra footage.

"It happens," Lincoln said in a what-are-you-going-to-do tone.

"Yeah, to you," Poppa Wheelie said.

Lincoln shrugged.

"You're a joke, Velazquest. You pooped yourself like a little baby. You're such a loser, I'm LMAOing at your life."

Then he did it.

He shoved Lincoln.

Un-uh.

Johnny broke from the line and strolled over. Poppa Wheelie looked him up and down, and before he could react, Johnny swept him into a front facing headlock just like the guys on _Dynamite. _Poppa screamed, and everyone backed cautiously away. "Don't touch my brother," Johnny hissed.

"Please, let me go!" Poppa wailed. He thrashed and flailed his arms, then broke down crying. "I'm so sorry."

Johnny was debating with himself whether or not to give the bully a DDT when someone tapped him on the shoulder. "Man, what?" he asked and turned.

Mr. Wyman glared down at him.

Uh-oh.

Fifteen minutes later, Poppa Wheelie was laid out in the nurses' office lying about having whiplash so he could go home and eat cupcakes and Lincoln and Johnny were in detention. Again. Mr. Porter read a copy of _Fantasy & Science Fiction _with an illustration of green, cloud-shrouded hillocks on the cover, and Johnny checked his phone. Two more buys and three more likes.

Oh yeah.

He was just starting to relax when the loudspeaker crackled and asked him and Lincoln to come to the front office. Okay, whateve. The principal probably wanted to chat. No biggie.

When he and Lincoln got there, though, he saw that it wasn't that.

Mom stood in the main office, her brows furrowed in an angry V.

Uh-oh.

They weren't even in the car yet when she uttered those words he dreaded. "Wait until I tell your father."

"No!" he and Lincoln cried in unison.

Dad would make what he did to Poppa Wheelie look like a loving embrace. "Please, I did it to protect L -"

She threw up her hand. "I don't want to hear this. I'm sick and tired of you two getting into fights."

On the ride home, Johnny played Taps on his phone...because it was all over, folks.

Mom sent him and Lincoln to their room, and there they stayed for the rest of the afternoon. Lincoln tried to read a comic but couldn't concentrate, and Johnny paced, dreading the sound of his father's car pulling into the driveway. Just before four, the door of 1216 opened and Luan stormed out with Lisa running to keep pace. Johnny watched them come with a puzzled frown. "Hey, Linc," he said, "we got company."

Lincoln tossed his comic aside, got up, and stood next to him at the window. When Luan and Lisa were in the yard, Johnny lifted the sash and stuck his head out. "What do you want?"

They looked up, and Luan narrowed her eyes. "I'm giving you creeps ten minutes to take that video down and give me the cassette back."

Johnny snorted. She was cute when she was mad. No wondered Lincoln liked her.

Lisa adjusted her glasses. "Greetings, Johnny," she said. Her tone was cold and calculated, but Johnny knew her well enough that he could detect the slight tremble in her voice. It made him feel good that the Loud girls liked him and all, but once you got to the ones younger than Lynn, it got _kiiind _of weird.

"I want my tape back," Luan said and put her hands defiantly on her hips.

Lincoln and Johnny looked at each other.

Ping.

Another payment.

Five more likes. They were two away from beating Hampsta Cam. Lincoln's heart bounced into his throat and a heady rush of triumpth came over him. He was going to do it. He was actually going to win this thing.

"Go away," he called.

Luan's eyes flashed dangerously, and she turned to Lisa. "Fine," she said, "let's go, Lisa." She spun and stomped home, Lisa running to keep from being left behind.

Ping.

Another like.

Lincoln's stomach knotted. "Dude," he said giddily, "dude, one more."

Johnny slapped his back. They had money, Lincoln was finally going to get his thropy and prove he wasn't a loser, and everything was alright.

Then Dad's car turned into the driveway.

Oh no.

* * *

Across the street, Luan opened her window and got down to one knee. She had a direct visual on Lincoln and Johnny's bedroom window. Next to her, Lisa set up her laptop and banged a sequence of keys. "Are you in?" Luan asked.

"In a moment," Lisa said.

Luan turned back to the window and watched Mr. Velazquest waddle up the porch steps like a fridge come to life. "Okay," Lisa said, "I hacked the server and am waiting for the video to delete." She sat her laptop aside, picked up what looked like a gun with a big antenna dish instead of a barrel, and got to her knees. She put a pair of headphones over her ears, and Luan jammed her fingers into hers.

Those boys thought they could get one over on her, but they were dealing with a professional. She was Luan Loud, she _always _got the last laugh.

Lisa braced her elbows on the sill and aimed the VHS Killer 3000 out the window. She squinted one eye and plastered her tongue to her upper lip. She jerked the trigger, and a low, teeth-vibrating hum issued forth…

* * *

"WHERE'S MY BELT?" Dad roared. Lincoln and Johnny cowered on Lincoln's bed. B-Belt? He hadn't used his belt in years.

"The attic," Mom said.

Heavy footsteps passed in the hall, and the folding door to the attic clunked down. This was it, Johnny thought, his life was over. He had a good run. It wasn't a long one, mind you, but it was good.

Suddenly, a strange, warbling noise filled his head and he started to shake. Lincoln felt it too. What was that?

Johnny got to his feet and stumbled against the desk. Luan's video tape sat next to the keyboard, and as Johnny watched in amazement, it crumbled into a little bitty pile of ash.

_Ping. _

A breath of heat broke over Johnny like the angry puff of dragon breath, and then it was all over. Lincoln picked up his phone to check the ping, then tensed. "It's gone!"

"What do you mean?"

"My video!" Lincoln cried. "Someone deleted it!"

In that instant, Johnny knew.

Lisa.

The sound of Luan Loud's mad laughter drifted across the street, and soon, Lincoln's desolate weeping covered it.

In the attic, Mr. Velazquest knelt before an open box. His belt, the wide one with NWO on it just like the one Hollywood Hogan used to use, was coiled on top of a library of neatly organized VHS tapes that comprised the entirety of the Monday Night Wars, when WCW and WWF went head-to-head in a ratings battle to end all ratings battles. He was a huge wrestling junkie as a kid, and he taped every episode of Monday Nitro and Monday Night Raw, every pay-per-view from the rise of the NWO and D-Generation X to the fall of WCW and the fabled Night of Champions. He loved this collection only slightly less than he loved his sons. Unlike them, it had never disappointed him and never, ever needed to be punished.

He grabbed the belt and started to get to his feet, but a skull rattling sonic blast hit him in the face. He reeled, almost fell, and got control of himself. He started to get up, then froze.

In the box...his tapes...his beautiful tapes…

They had turned to ash.

The belt dropped from his hand and his heart stopped mid-beat. No...no, this couldn't be…

He dipped his hands in, sure that he was hallucinating, but the tapes were gone.

Everything.

Clash of the Champions, Fall Brawl, Bash at the Beach, Survivor Series, King of the Ring, Hogan's Heel turn, Goldberg's winning streak, JR lowblowing Michael Cole, The Montreal Screwjob…dead...all dead...

His lips began to tremble and hot tears filled his eyes.

Throwing his head back and his arms out on either side of him as if in supplication of a cruel god, he wailed his misery.

"WHHHHHHHHHHYYYYY?"

He was so broken up that he didn't whip Lincoln and Johnny that night. He was too busy curled up in bed, sucking his thumb, and crying while his wife patted his back.

* * *

Lincoln dragged himself into class and sank into his seat. Today, Mrs. Johnson would announce the winner of the video contest, not that it mattered. Lincoln's video was deleted and he was out. Ruined. All washed up. He drew a watery sigh and blotted his eyes with the heel of his palm. He guessed he couldn't blame Luan for doing it. He did steal her tape and you know what they say about living and dying by the gun.

At lunch, he stared dejectedly down into his food while Johnny consoled him. Stella, Sid, and Liam drifted over and sat around him in a cluster. _You okay? _Stella asked. _You look really sad_.

_He _is _really sad, _Johnny said. He had been Lincoln's voice all day like his name was Jimmy Hart. Talking took too much energy. Existing took too much energy.

_I'm sorry, _Sid said, _for what it's worth, it _was _a really funny video._

_I voted for it five times, _Liam said, _if a feller posts somethin' like that you know they wanna win and, darn it, Lincoln deserved it. _

He did want to win. So bad. Everyone else got to have a win every once in a while, but not him. He was a loser with nothing. No talent. No ability. He was dangerously handsome, but that's not a talent. Everyone he knew from Johnny on down to Liam could do something, him? Not so much.

Sigh.

Presently, Mrs. Johnson stood at the head of the room, and Lincoln hung his head. "Alright, class, it's time to announce the winner of the fifth grade video contest."

A murmur went through the room and Lincoln took a deep breath. Oh well. Nothing wrong with being a hack, right? Kim Kardashian had no talent and everyone loved her.

"And the winner is…"

At least he and Johnny made some money. They still had close to two hundred dollars in their account. They could go to Dairyland with it or -

"Lincoln Velazquest."

Lincoln was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that it took Mrs. Johnson's words a moment to sink in. When they did, Lincoln sat up straight. "Me?"

"Yes, you," Mrs. Johnson said.

"But how? My video got deleted."

"It still got the most likes," she said.

That didn't make sense. It got more like than Hamsta Cam only moments before it was deleted.

Then he remembered. It was directly linked to the school server and every like was automatically registered in the system.

Mrs. Johnson picked up a trophy from her desk and told him to come to the front of the room. Lincoln's eyes fixed on the golden idol and his heartbeat sped up. He did it...he really did it, he won something. He got to his feet and walked to the head of the class like a man on clouds. A shaft of light fell through the ceiling and bathed the trophy and a chorus of angels struck up. He took it in his hands and for the first time in his life, he felt like a winner.

A smattering of kids clapped half-heartedly but to him it was thunderous applause. He held the award over his head and let out a victory screech that some say is still echoing through the halls of RWE even to this day.

On the walk home, Lincoln stroked his award like a beloved pet, and Johnny clapped his back. "Good work, man," he said, "I'm proud of you. You didn't have to win a hunk of metal to prove you're a talented guy, though."

Lincoln shrugged. Yes he did.

"I say we go out to eat tonight, my treat." Johnny checked his phone and came to a grinding halt.

"What?" Lincoln asked.

"We're down a hundred bucks."

Lincoln looked at the screen. They had 99 dollars whereas they started the day with 200. "What'd you spend it on?"

"Nothing," Johnny said, "it-"

The same idea hit them at the exact same time.

Luan.

And as if on cue, Luan Loud's maniacal laughter resounded through the neighborhood.

Like she said:

Luan Loud always got the last laugh.


	3. Hangin' Tough

**Anonymous789: All of the stories in this collection are commissions, so I'm just doing what the buyer wants, lol. The following story isn't based on any existing episode. **

**STR2D3PO: Belated response, but I wanted to give a shoutout to AEW. I haven't watched it and probably won't, but any competition to Vince McMahon is a good thing. Also, seeing wrestling back on TNT less than twenty years after they turned their nose up at it and killed any chance of WCW surviving is kind of nice. Not to mention they have Tony Schivone AND Jim Ross on commentary. Those two have always been the voice of wrestling to me, Tony in WCW and Jim in WWE. Come to think of it, I did watch a clip from an episode of **_**Dynamite. **_**Something about Chris Jericho and Jungle Boy or some crap. I wasn't impressed, tbh.**

Johnny Velazquest had one sibling, a brother named Lincoln, but he knew all too well what it was like to have more. He and Linc were in tight with the Loud crowd, their neighbors, and there were times they ran roughshod over them the same way they did each other. Take, for instance, the time he and Linc were drafted by two warring factions of the Louds to settle a dispute, and wound up on opposite ends of the battlefield, or the countless times they dragged him and Linc in a thousand different directions.

He liked the Loud girls, but they could be drama. They were always fighting, arguing, being loud (heh, no pun intended), and generally making things harder for themselves, and each other, than they had to be.

But that wasn't his problem. If they tried to draft him and Lincoln into their little spats or projects, all he had to do was hide. Lincoln, too nice for his own good, always let them pull him in, like spiders roping a fly into their den, but not Johnny. If he smelled trouble coming (or saw a giant group of girls crossing the street in his direction), he skedaddled and held up in the attic, where he flipped through old magazines until the coast was clear. Dad had a stack of old wrestling magazines and after a while, Johnny knew about as much about the "sport" as Dad, though he'd never sat through an entire match and probably never would. He also read a few of Mom's old Danielle Steel paperbacks up there. Don't tell anyone, cuz he had a reputation to uphold, but he liked those books.

Anyway, Johnny wasn't always quick enough to escape being sucked into the midst of the Loud girls' drama.

Case in point.

It was early on a Saturday morning, and Johnny had been awake since just before five. He stayed up all night Thursday editing together a music video for a friend of his, and spent all day Friday exhausted and hating life. He went to bed after dinner and woke up early. He showered, made himself a bowl of cereal, and settled down in front of the ancient PC in his and Lincoln's room for a Spongebob marathon. Lincoln rolled out of bed at seven and Mom and Dad started moving around a half hour later. At breakfast, Mom tried to get Johnny to come antiquing with her. "It'll be so much fun," she said with a big, cheesy smile.

Uh...no, it won't be.

He made up an excuse about having to visit a sick friend in the hospital, and she moved onto Lincoln, "What about you, honey? I know a place with the _best _kitsch." She waved her hand to punctuate her sentiment.

Lincoln looked like a deer in the headlights. "Uh...well...he's my friend too, so I better tag along with Johnny."

The light in Mom's eyes died.

Just a little.

"Okay," she said with a hint of disappointment, and for a brief second, Johnny almost reconsidered.

Almost.

He loved his Mom, but she got _really _into antiquing. Like...she'd go from antique store to thrift store to flea market to yard sale, getting more and more amped with each one until she shook like a junkie in the grips of a drug-fueled rush, and if you didn't pry her away with a crowbar, she'd be out there for _hours_. The last thing Johnny wanted to do with his Saturday was hit up every secondhand shop, garage sale, and swap meet in a fifty mile radius.

Sorry, Mom.

Dad, for his part, would spend the entire day in his chair watching WWE on Demand or nineties action movies on Starz. When Lisa used her little VHS Killer to destroy that tape Lincoln stole from Luan, Dad's wrestling videos got caught in the crossfire and he sank into a deep depression. Mom bought him WWE on Demand to make him feel better because "Look, it has all the same stuff." It didn't, though, which Dad bellyached about constantly. Oh boo hoo they edited out Crispin Wah and Mr. McMahon calling John Cena "mah n-word." Waaaah.

Johnny had to feel sorry for the guy.

After washing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen from top to bottom, Lincoln and Johnny started upstairs, but stopped when someone knocked on the door. Dad was esconded in his chair with a bag of pretzels and _Live Free or Die Hard _on TV, and Mom had already left for her epic day of antiquing. Johnny, therefore, had no choice but to answer. Not that he thought twice about it. Someone's knocking, what are you _supposed _to do, right?

Bad move.

As soon as he twisted the knob, the door was wrenched out of his hand and he and Lincoln were both yanked over the threshold by ten angry sets of hands. The Loud girls, all talking over each other, surrounded them like a group of flesh hungry zombies falling on some hapless heroes, and Lincoln and Johnny both cringed. Welp, it's been a good run.

"Quiet!" Lori screamed, and a hush settled over them.

"What's going on?" Lincoln asked.

"We didn't do anything, we swear," Johnny plead. "At least I didn't, I dunno about Linc. What'd you do to them, Linc?"

He shoved Lincoln for possibly angering the Louds in some way, shape, or form, and Lincoln glared, then shoved him back. Johnny started to lunge for him, but Lori silenced him. "We're going to Frank's Funland today."

"But Lori doesn't wanna play _Guitar Hero," _Luna said bitterly, "'cause she's lame."

"And Lori won't go-kart with me," Leni said, an abject hitch in her voice.

"And Lola thinks she's too good for the zoo," Lana said and shot her twin a dirty look.

Lucy sighed. "There's a legit haunted house nearby and I want to check it out, but everyone's too scared to go with me."

"I want to have a tea party," Lola humphed.

Lisa adjusted her glasses. "At approximately 8pm this evening, there will be a meteor shower and I was hoping that...perhaps…" she trailed off and blushed.

Lori rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, one hip cocked to the side. Johnny knew that look well. She was going to issue an order and the issuee would either follow it...or they'd end the day as a human pretzel. "None of us want to do the same thing," Lori explained. "That's where you two come in,"

Lincoln and Johnny exchanged a worried glance. Johnny had a full season of Spongebob calling his name, and the rest of the day free. Maybe having a clear schedule doesn't mean much to some people, but it did to Johnny. Between school, homework, chores, and church on Sunday, pretty much every single minute he had was accounted for. Saturday was his me-time, a magical and wondrous 24 hour period where he could do anything he wanted...or nothing at all.

That time was precious to him. If he wouldn't sacrifice it for his own mother, there was no way in heck he was going to give it to the Loud girls. "Well," he said and rubbed the back of his neck, "you see...me and Linc have -"

His words cut off when Lori snatched him by the front of his shirt and dragged him off his feet. Fire blazed in her eyes and her lips peeled back from her teeth in a cannibalistic sneer that dared him to continue so that it had an excuse to rend the flesh from his bones. "Listen, you little twerp, you and white hair are going to come to Frank's Funland with us and you are going to _like _it."

Have you ever heard the phrase "An offer you can't refuse"? It comes from that old mob movie _The Godfather _and literally means "an offer that you cannot turn down because it's not really an offer at all, it's a demand." This was one of those offers. Johnny was free to say no, but he was also free to get his butt kicked by a bunch of T'd off girls. If antiquing with Mom was the last place he wanted to be today, the emergency room was even last...erer.

"Alright, alright," he cried, "fine, we'll go to Frank's Funland with you."

A wicked grin carved across Lori's face, and she sat him back on his feet. "Good," she said. "I knew you'd make the right decision."

And that's how Lincoln and Johnny's day began.

* * *

Frank's Funland occupied a vast swath of flat land west of I-19, its tents, spires, roller coasters, and fluttering flags rising up over the stand of trees separating it from the highway. Booths, kiddie rides, and other attractions flanked a wide, dusty midway crammed with people. Kids with ice cream smeared across their lips ran wild like animals released from the world's strangest zoo, women in light, summery clothes pushed red-faced toddlers in strollers, and a fat man devoured huge clumps of cotton candy from a stick. Circus music filtered from unseen speakers, dull-eyed carnies watched marks try (and fail) to beat rigged games, and a man in a top hat and cut away tails invited everyone to "step right up." To what, Johnny didn't know. To get that butt whooped, maybe?

Billed as the largest attraction north of the Michigan state line, Frank's Funland comprised rides, a water park, a mini golf course, a go-kart track, stages where magicians, local bands, and stand-up comics played to generally apathetic crowds waiting for the lines to their favorite ride to thin out, and a zoo where tigers, lions, and other exotic creatures paced back and forth in big enclosures.

Across the street, Twin Pines Mall faced the amusement park like a duelist staring down a rival, and two blocks to the south, the old Chatterbuck Mansion peeked out from a grove of dead trees like a rotting face. Its roof sagged in the middle as if underneath the weight of years and strips of faded paint peeled from its decaying walls like dead skin. As they drove past it, Lucy slided up next to Johnny and looked up at him. Her expression was blank and her eyes hidden behind her bangs, but he could sense her gaze anyway. "That's where we're going."

_Yay, _he thought, _I get to get eaten by a ghost. Fun, fun, fun! _

"He's going mini golfing with me first," Lori said and shot Lucy a dirty look in the rearview mirror. "So back off, goth."

"I'm not a goth," Lucy said, "I'm an emo."

Lynn leaned over the back of the seat and mussed Lucy's hair. "I thought you were a loser."

"Get off of me," Lucy said. She twisted around and wiggled her fingers like a wizard shooting lightning at an enemy, and Lola threw her head back.

"Lori! Lucy's hexing people again!"

In the next seat over, Lisa sighed. "Lola, I've told you, there is no such thing as black magic. Or white magic, for that matter. Belief in such is fed by superstition and lack of education. Those two things, I might add, are what one should _really _concern themselves with."

Lori pulled the van into the crowded parking lot and they all climbed out. As soon as they got through the main gate, Lori grabbed Johnny by the back of his coat and dragged him away like a caveman with its bride. "We'll be on the links," she tossed over her shoulder, "Leni, you're in charge."

Leni fisted her hands to her chest in excitement and bounced up and down. "I, like, get to call the shots now."

Lola's face dropped into a deep glower. "We're all gonna die," she predicted.

The mini golf course was spread out between a massive water slide and the go-kart track. Johnny stood in line next to Lori and craned his neck to get a better look at the layout; he'd never been mini golfing before and had no idea what to expect. A split rail fence edged the green, and beyond, a zigzagging maze of walls, lanes, windmills, tubes, and tunnels surrounded each hole. "I appreciate you coming," Lori said, as though he had a choice in the matter. "I've been _dying _to get out here."

"No problem," he said, "mini golf is, uh, I mean, it looks fun."

"It's literally a blast."

So the balls explode when you hit them?

Gulp.

Happenin'.

When they reached the booth, Lori paid and took two clubs and two balls. She handed one of each to Johnny, and he turned the club over in his hands like he'd never seen one before. He had, but only in GTA 5. You hold it by the stubby end, right? "I didn't know you liked golf so much," he said as they made their way toward the first hole.

"Yeah, I just recently got into it," Lori said, "my friend Carol plays it a lot and she got me playing it." She uttered an easy laugh. "None of the others like it. Lynn just _loves _sports, but she hates the one _I _like. Go figure, right?"

Johnny shrugged one shoulder. "I guess. Lincoln likes comics but he doesn't like the ones I like."

"Eh, all comics are boring."

Well, you see, you're wrong there, but okay.

The first hole of the day was also the easiest. Ten feet separated the tee from the cup - the former being where you put your ball before you hit it and the latter being the little hole in the ground it's supposed to go into. The point of the game, Lori said, was to get the lowest score possible. Strange, but okay, pfft, he could do that easy.

Bending at the waist, she drew her club back and lightly tapped the ball. It rolled over the turf and sank into the hole.

"You're turn," she chirped.

Johnny took her place. He drew the club back and let fly with all of his might: The ball shot through the air like a bullet, sailed over a low hedge, and disappeared into the water park. "MY BUTT!" someone cried, and Johnny winced. Whoops.

"Uh...why?" Lori asked, a patronizing hilt in her voice.

"You gotta get the lowest score, right?" Johnny asked self-assuredly. "I missed so I don't score." He cracked a smug grin and tapped his forehead. "I'm a quick learner."

Lori pinched the bridge of her nose. "You get a point for literally stroke. You have _more _points than me now."

Johnny blinked. Really?

That was dumb.

"Guess I'll only use on hit next time," he figured.

Ha.

Easier said than done. Every put he made overshot, undershot, or sideshot. Once, the ball even rolled _over _the hole but didn't go in. "Come on!" he cried and threw the club away. He kicked the air and threw a frustrated punch at the concept of golf itself. Lori crossed her arms and enjoyed the show with a bemused smile on her face. She kept track of their totals on a scorecard at first, then stopped when Johnny losing went from inevitable to a foregone conclusion.

The last hole was the hardest. You had to hit the ball through a windmill, whereupon the track sloped up, then bent almost 180 degrees, then back down again before filtering out in the green. Lori went first. Johnny watched the ball make its way to the cup, and a petty, spiteful part of him hoped she missed.

She didn't.

"Your turn," she smirked.

He sighed. Alright, bro, one shot...please, make one shot.

Taking a deep breath, he putted. The ball rolled toward the opening of the windmill, then, impossibly, curved left and came back, bumping against his foot and coming to rest like a proud dog who had just completed an arduous task for its master. _Here's that loss you wanted. _He slumped his shoulders, hung his head, and took a deep, calming breath. Oh well. You can't win them all.

Lori laughed and gave his back a consoling pat. "You did good for your first time," she offered.

No, he didn't.

He just hoped Lincoln was faring better.

* * *

"There!" Leni cried in Lincoln's ear. He winced and narrowed his eyes. She pointed and jumped excitedly up and down. Her face positively glowed and Lincoln found it impossible to be upset with her, even though she had dragged him and her sisters from one side of the park to the other and back again in search of the go-kart track. The best part was: It wasn't hiding. All you had to do was face north-northwest and you'd see it. Leni, however, kept missing it, and no matter how much he, Lola, Lana, Lisa, or Lucy tried to help her, she threw up her hand and insisted on doing it herself. "I'm the one in charge here," she said resolutely, "so it's up to me."

"But, Leni," he started, "it's right -"

She fixed him with a withering gaze. "Up. To. Me." She pronounced each word slowly so he got her gist.

Sigh.

Okay.

"Let's go," she said now. She grabbed him around the wrist with surprising strength and pulled him toward the metal barriers defining the track. Beyond, the pavement twisted, turned, and flowed over lumpy, wave-like hills. Go-karts painted happy colors zipped by and Leni's grip tightened. "I can't _wait _to let 'er rip." A mad smile spread across her face and Lincoln nervously wetted his lips. Leni was sweet, kind and...well...cute, but she wasn't exactly the most, uh, trustable person when it came to handling potentially dangerous equipment. He flashed back to the Great Buzzsaw Calamity of 2018 and shuddered. Never forget, the Louds vowed, never again.

"Uh, Leni, I -"

"Hush, Lincy," she said, "I, like, need to get in the zone."

In line, Lincoln glanced over his shoulder and was unsurprised to see that the other Loud girls had all drifted away, leaving him alone with Speed Racer. Whoopie.

Leni took a series of deep breaths and swept her hands up and down in front of her (_wah-lah_) like she was trying to sniff the air.

When they reached the front of the line, Leni handed the man hers and Lincoln's ticket and took two helmets. "Thank you, Mr. Drivey Man," she said.

Another man, this one in a blue polo with PIT CREW across the left breast in white, strapped him and Leni into their own go-karts, gave their safety harnesses a sharp jerk to make sure they were secure, then checked their helmets. Leni gripped the wheel and trembled like a high tension wire, her teeth bared in a big, giddy smile that was wholesome and appealing at the same time it was disconcerting.

"You okay there?" Lincoln asked.

She hummed. "I have, like, a need for speed. Going fast is _fun_." She bent over the wheel and turned it left and right. "The wind in my face, the roar of the engine thingie, the smell of burning up tires…"

"I wasn't aware you were so into racing."

Her head bobbed up and down. "Oh, yeah, I'm a huge racist."

Lincoln blinked. "Uh...you mean race enthusiast?"

"Yep," she said, "I'm a proud racist."

A Hispanic man in the cart next to Leni's turned to look at her, his features pinched in disapproval.

"No, Leni, you're not a racist," Lincoln explained.

Leni gasped. "Yes I am, and when they say go, I'm going to prove it."

"No, I mean -"

The gate blocking the track from pit road opened, and the light beside it turned green. Before Lincoln could even register what was happening, Leni stomped on the gas and her car rocketed forward. "Eat my dust, Lincy!" she cried over her shoulder. She shot through the gate and turned right, the other drivers falling in behind. For a second, h stat there, stunned, then gunned the engine. The car surged out of pit road, and he spun the wheel to keep from losing control, the back tires slipping and screeching on the blacktop. He'd show her how to eat dust...and not by eating it himself!

Weaving in and out of traffic, he caught up to Leni quickly. When he tried to pass him, she swerved and tried to him him. His heart jumped into his throat and he jerked the wheel to the right, his front end narrowly missing Leni's. She let out a high, insane cackle and pulled ahead. "I'm FAST!" she yelled.

Lincoln narrowed his eyes to devious slits and pressed the gas pedal to the floor. She might be fast, but she wasn't fast enough.

He drew alongside her, and she whipped her head around. Giggling madly, she tried to hit him again, but he tapped the brakes and fell back, then hit the gas again and blasted forward. When his front end was even with her back end, he jerked the wheel left and crashed into her. Her cart started to spin and she held onto the wheel for dear life. "AHHHH, NO!" Lincoln looked back just as another driver slammed into her. Another hit the first, and soon, the track was littered with crashed cars and prone bodies. Leni sat dazedly among the wreckage and rubbed her forehead. "I think I went _too _fast."

After they were inevitably thrown out, they made their way toward the concession stands, Lincoln staring down at his feet like a naughty boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Sorry I wrecked you," he said.

"Are you kidding?" Leni asked. "That was _totes _fun. Lori's, like, an old woman driver out there, you were _fast_." She slapped his back and he stumbled forward.

Well, at least she was happy.

"Now," she said and stopped. "Where's everyone else?" She put her hand to her forehead to shield her eyes from the glare of the sun and looked around. Lincoln scanned the crowd and spotted Luna, Lori, Lynn, and Johnny in the shade of a cavernous arcade wedged between a pizza parlor and a gift. "They're -"

Leni waved him off. "I'm in charge," she said, "it's up to me."

Oh, great, this again. Leni turned her head slowly left and right. She looked dead at Lori but didn't register her leaning against a Pac-Man cabinet. "Huh. They're nowhere."

Sighing, Lincoln brushed past her and started over. "Wait, Lincy, we have to find - oh, there they are. I found them."

A forest of game cabinets crowded the dimly lit space. Skee ball tables lined one concrete wall and kids packed close to the most popular games three and four deep, their faces flushed from the heat. Lori nodded when Lincoln walked up but didn't move from her perch. "Hi, Lori!" Leni cried.

"Where's Johnny?" Lincoln asked. He was just here.

Before Lori could answer, Johnny called out and Lincoln spotted him and Luna on two adjacent DDR platforms. Each held a plastic guitar connected by a long cord to the _Guitar Hero _cabinet next door. Lincoln went over and Leni followed. "Hey, dude," Luna said. "Wanna play a game?"

Lincoln's eyes darted from the guitar to the flashing arrow pads beneath her feet. "What kind of game?"

"DDR Hero," Luna said. "I made it up myself. You play the guitar _and _dance. It's epic hard."

She and Johnny went first. He was good at both games, but he was overwhelmed by doing them at once and wound up tripping and falling off the platform with a breathless off. Luna stomped left, then right, cut a sick cord, then spun around and did some kind of cha-cha-slide crap that reminded Lincoln of that pop singer who started as a black man then ended as a pedophilic white woman. He helped Johnny to his feet and Johnny brushed himself off.

Next was Lincoln's turn. "Just don't think about it," Luna said. "Let the rhythm flow through you and just...vibe."

Just vibe.

Right.

The music started and the display screen lit up. Arrows scrolled past, slow at first, then faster. He stepped right, left, back, his fingers flying across the fretboard to keep up with the song. "You're doing great!" Luna called. His heart was racing, his lungs throbbing, sweat trickling down the back of his neck. The arrows were getting faster, faster, his feet tangled and he started to fall, but Luna grabbed the back of his coat.

"Thanks," he panted.

"No prob," she said, "but we should probably stop before someone gets hurt."

That sounded good.

Lincoln didn't want to get hurt.

* * *

...but he wanted to do magic even less. Standing on a stage in front of fifty kids ranging in age from two to eight and dressed in a top hat and tails, Lincoln took a deep breath and let it out slowly. _Sure,_ he told Luan earlier when she asked, _I know lots of magic tricks. _He was trying to impress her; if he knew magic tricks, maybe he'd have a shot at her liking him back.

_Great, _she said, _I can't wait to see them at the show, _she said.

He was so captivated by her beauty that it took her words a few moments to sink in._Wait, the what?_

How was he supposed to know she wanted him to take her spot at the big Frank's Funland magic show? How was he supposed to know he'd wind up on stage with a hundred sets of eyes staring expectantly up at him, waiting, demanding, impatient? He swallowed around a lump in his throat and pressed his watery knees together to keep himself from melting into a puddle. His cheeks blazed hot and his bowels quivered like cold Jello. He felt like he was going to puke...but he also felt like he was going to have diarrhea.

Like Johnny, he was sociable and comfortable with being in front of people, but this was different, for he was completely out of his element. He had no idea what he was doing and he could feel the crowd getting restless. He looked out over the sea of faces and spotted Luan off to one side. She raised her brows and motioned for him to do something.

Uh...okay. Let's see...

He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a deck of cards. His fingers trembled as he opened it. Something, somehow, went wrong, and all of the cards sprayed from the pack and landed on the floor.

It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

He swallowed again. "Uh...for my next trick…I will make my hat disappear."

A restive murmur ran through the audience. "If you'll just...turn around for one second…"

Luan slapped her hand to her face and shook her head.

She didn't look impressed.

Darn it.

Thankfully, some guy dressed as a bottle of Frank's Red Hot came out with a hat and cane and started dancing, allowing Lincoln to escape. "You don't know any magic tricks, do you?" Luan asked as they walked back toward the arcade.

Lincoln gave a resigned head shake. "Not one."

"Then why did you say you did?"

Before he could stop himself, he said, "To impress you." As soon as the words had left his mouth, he blushed furiously.

"Well...I'm not impressed by lying," she said, "so...you failed."

Lincoln's stomach clutched. Great. He offended the girl he liked and looked like a total scumbag.

Sigh. Hopefully Johnny was having a better time with Lynn.

* * *

Johnny jumped onto the bench then leapt over the side. He hit the ground, staggered and almost dropped to his knees, but kept his balance and pushed himself faster. Ahead, Lynn ducked in and out of the crowd thronging the breezeway. People jumped back and yelled, but she didn't stop, didn't even slow.

They were on the second floor of the Twin Pines Mall. When Lynn brought up wanting to come here, Johnny arched his brow but didn't say anything. Lynn wasn't the kind of girl who liked hanging around the mall, but hey, maybe she needed to pick something up at Dick's or Lady's Footlocker.

Nope.

She wanted to do parkour.

Parkour is basically running through a given environment and not stopping for anything. If something gets in your way - say a bench - you jump on it, then off it, never losing forward momentum. It was developed in France around the turn of the 20th Century, and Johnny found delicious irony in that - the art of running away was pioneered by the French. LOL.

Ahead, Lynn ducked into the food court, spun around an old woman supporting herself with a walker, and jumped onto a kiosk laden with cellphone accessories. An Arab man in an Izod tucked into tan slacks ran over, yelling and waving his arms, and Lynn sprang off, knees bending as she sailed over the floor. She landed and kept going. Johnny's legs were beginning to cramp and a hot stitch flared in his side. He was about to stop and -

"Freeze! Mall security!"

Johnny glanced over his shoulder. A morbidly obese man in black pants and a white utility shirt boasting a bronze badge on the left breast lumbered after him. The fat spilling over his waistband jiggled hypnotically and his labored breathing reminded Johnny of Michael Myers...or Darth Vader. Probably Vader more so.

Fat or not, he was gaining, and Johnny's heart jolted. He pushed himself faster and caught up with Lynn near the stairs. "We got company," he huffed.

She turned just as the guard appeared at the end of the breezeway. He was on a Segway now, a helmet with a siren strapped to his head. "Freeze!" he called.

"Oh, we can outrun him easy," Lynn said, then tumbled down the stairs. Johnny followed, then followed her left into Sears. She ducked off the tile lane servicing the floor and disappeared into a dense screen of women's clothing. Johnny hesitated - he couldn't go in there - then hurried after when the elevator doors across the way opened and Paul Blart buzzed out. Lynn grabbed him and pulled him to the ground. "Shhh," she warned.

They hunkered there for nearly half an hour while the guard circled the store looking for them. Finally, he buzzed off in defeat, and Lynn jumped up. "That was close," she said. "You really gotta learn to keep up."

Johnny opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Lynn bounded off.

Sighing, he stood and winced when a bolt of pain shot down his leg. He bent, massaged his knee, then shuffled off to find Lynn.

When they got back to Frank's a half hour later, he made a B-line for the concession stands, throat parched, but Lucy popped up in front of him, and he jumped back with a scream. "Hi," she said in that flat monotone. "Can we go to the Chatterbuck House now?"

Oooh.

He totally forgot about _that_.

Inside of fifteen minutes, he was following Lucy through the tumbledown chain link fence enclosing the overgrown yard, Lincoln creeping behind. The house loomed over them like a hungry monster, its windows broken and its porch deeply bowed. Lucy slipped through the grass like a small, self-assured mammal and Johnny cast a nervous look over his shoulder to make sure they weren't being watched. "Anyone back there?" he asked Lincoln.

Lincoln shook his head.

"We're gonna see a ghost for sure," Lucy said more to herself than to them. The planks creaked under her feet and the hinges shrieked when she opened the door. Inside, perpetual gloom held sway, broken only by shafts of faint sunlight falling through ruined portions of the ceiling. The floor had turned soft and spongy in places from decades of rainfall, and the nauseating stench of mold and earth plugged Johnny's nose. Rats thumped unseen in the walls and water dripped somewhere in the darkness, lending the parlor a subterranean air that made Johnny feel claustrophobic. "If you were a ghost, where would you hang out?" Lucy asked.

"Here," he said.

"Basement," she said, and her lips turned up in a tiny grin.

Oh no.

Johnny did _not _want to go in the basement. It was bad enough up here.

But Lucy was already heading in that direction. Darn it.

Lincoln hung his head. "This is lame."

Downstairs, the blackness was total, disorienting. A stale draft blew over them and the concrete floor scraped beneath their shoes. They walked in circles, Lucy occasionally calling out, "Spirits...to me!" Before long, she deflated and sat against the wall, her knees drawn to her chest. Lincoln went back upstairs like a wuss. "There aren't any spirits here," she said glumly. "I'm starting to think there aren't spirits anywhere."

"Oh, don't be like that," Johnny said, "not every creepy looking house is going to be haunted. You just gotta keep on looking. You'll find a ghost eventually."

She sighed. "I guess." She turned in a rustle of clothes and Johnny could feel her gaze hot on his face. "On the bright side, we can practice kissing while we're down here."

Johnny smiled nervously.

Heh.

Yeah.

Great.

He got to his feet. "Man, would you look at the time, we gotta start heading back."

"Aw, man," Lucy said, bummed. "Fine."

She got up, and together, they went upstairs and outside into the afternoon sunshine. Her hand kept brushing Johnny's, and when her pinkie entwined with his…

...he slapped it away.

* * *

After returning from the Chatterbuck Mansion, Lincoln took Lana to the zoo. Cages with big iron bars and deep, below ground enclosures flanked either side of the walkway, and the animal smell of, well, animal wafted through the air. Monkeys swung through tall, leafy trees, pausing only to fling poo at one another, and a giraffe munched on foliage seemingly without a care in the world. Lana ran excitedly from place to place, her eyes all big and shimmery, and Lincoln did his best to keep up. It was closing in on 4 in the afternoon and he'd been on his feet for hours; he was _this _close to falling over and giving up the ghost. Spirits to me? More like Lincoln to me.

"Whoa, a hippo!" Lana cried. She gripped the railing and jumped up and down to see into the hippo enclosure but couldn't quite get it.

Lincoln went over, gripped her hips from behind, and lifted her off her feet. "Hold on," he warned, "we don't need another Harambe incident."

Lana twisted around to look at him, her brow furrowing. "A what?"

"A couple years ago, some kid in the gorilla enclosure at a zoo and this bg gorilla grabbed him and started whipping him around, dragging him through standing water, stuff like that. The gorilla probably didn't mean any harm, but come on, it weighed like 900 pounds and its throwing this 40 pound toddler around like a rag doll. Kid was gonna get hurt, maybe even die. Anyway, to save the kid's life, the zookeeper plugged Harambe in his head, and all the liberals went crazy because they care more about animals than people at this point. It was a real mess." He shook his head at the memory.

Lana's bottom lip began to quiver. "T-They shot him?"

Uh-oh.

"No, I mean -"

Throwing her head back, Lana began to cry.

"With a tranquilizer," he said quickly, "not a cranium obliterating high caliber slug or anything."

She cried harder.

Way to go, Linc. You shoved your foot so far in your mouth your toes popped out of your butt.

Wouldn't be the first time and probably wouldn't be the last.

The only way to calm Lana down was to carry her around and pat her back like an overgrown baby. He bought her an ice cream bar shaped like Scooby-Doo, then gave her a piggyback ride through the rest of the zoo, stopping at every cage so she could happily greet the animals. At one point she got so excited over some lions that she grabbed a handful of Lincoln's hair and kicked her heels against his chest like he was a horse.

By the time they got back to the others, his pecs throbbed and his back was so sore he could hardly walk.

Ugh. Like shotgun bullets, spending time with the Louds was bad for his health.

Meanwhile, Lola and Johnny were having a tea party at one of the picnic tables dotting the area around the concession stands. She poured imaginary tea into a pink plastic cup and prattled on and on about "the VanderMeers' contillian." Johnny sat with his back completely straight, prim and proper, and touched his extended pinkie to the corner of his mouth, because that's what rich people do, right?

Lola handed him his cup, and he took it. "Thank you, my dear Lola," he said and took a sip. "Nothing hits the spot after a long day of being rich better than tea."

"It's a special blend," Lola said and waved her hand. "It's very expensive. I import it directly from the Orient."

"I say, it's magnificent," Johnny said. "I must have the recipe."

Lola took a sip of her own tea. "I could pass it along, but you have to give me something in return."

"Which is?"

She presented one blushing, rose bud cheek. "A kiss."

Aw, man, not _this _again. Seriously, of all the Loud girls who could like him, it was the little ones, the ones he would never, ever like back. He could see himself digging Lori, Leni, Luna, Luan, or Lynn, but not a couple six year olds.

"Is there no other way to obtain it, my fair lady?" Johnny asked hopefully. He dug himself into a hole now he needed to get out.

"There isn't," Lola said.

Alright. "If you'll excuse me, I must -"

Her bottom lip started to tremble and her big brown eyes took on a watery sheen. Johnny sighed. Fine. He leaned over, puckered his lips, and lightly touched them to Lola's cheek, then wrenched them away. They tingled with shame and disgust. A hazy smile spread across Lola's face and she let out a dreamy sigh.

At least one of them was happy about this.

And it wasn't him.

* * *

They left Frank's Funland at dusk and got back home just after full night had fallen. Stars twinkled in the sky like diamond flecks on black velvet and the lights up and down the street cast pools of murky illumination. Johnny climbed out of the van and stretched. He was exhausted and as soon as he got through the door he was -

"Johnny?"

Lisa stood next to him with her hands clasped demurely behind her back.

"Yes?"

"You agreed to watch the meteor shower with me."

Oh.

Right.

While the other, including Lincoln, went into the Loud house, Johnny sat on the darkneed back porch. Lisa set up a telescope and pressed one eye to the viewfinder. "It should be starting momentarily," she said.

A few minutes later, she nudged his arm. "There."

High above, a pinprick of brilliant white streaked across the sky, followed by another, and another still. Johnny craned his neck to see better and watched in wonder as a thousand meteors rained across the heavens like celestial teardrops. "Wow," he breathed, "that's actually pretty cool."

Lisa gave some wordy and long-winded speech explaining meteors and whatever, but Johnny didn't understand a single syllable; he just nodded and said 'Uh-huh," like he did. "That's awesome."

"I know," Lisa said, a hint of animation creeping into her voice. "Natural science is endlessly fascinating." She scooted next to him and her knee pressed into his. "And, I dare say, somewhat...romantic."

Sigh.

Eventually the others drifted out. "This is literally the perfect way to end a perfect day," Lori said.

Lily crawled over and sat at Johnny's feet, a sad expression in her eyes. "She missed you," Mr. Loud said, "she was very upset that she didn't get to go to Frank's Funland."

Johnny frowned in sympathy, then an idea struck him.

Fifteen minutes later, he and Lincoln crouched behind a wooden booth that Lana cobbled together. Nail heads stuck out at precarious angles and the whole thing leaned heavily to one side. The Louds, Lily front and center, were fanned out before it. Johnny lifted his hand over the stage and on it was a puppet of himself. Lincoln did the same. "I'm Lincoln," he said.

"And I'm Johnny,"

"And together we are Lincoln and Johnny."

Lincoln's puppet bumped into Johnny's, and Johnny pushed it away. "Stop touching me."

"No, you stop touching me."

"Dude, stop, we're trying to put on a puppet show here," Johnny said soberly. He wanted to make up for Lily not going to Frank's and Lincoln was going to ruin it by being a spag. Lincoln pushed his hand, and Johnny retaliated. "Linc, knock it off."

When Lincoln did it a third time, Johnny responded by balling his puppet hand and crashing it into Lincoln's puppet. In a flash, they were locked up in a tangle of floppy limbs and frozen smiles. Lincoln wrenched Johnny's hand to the side, and Johnny yelped. The Louds clapped and laughed, Lilly pounding the grass and Mr. Loud rolling back and forth on his back. They thought it was part of the show, but it wasn't; Lincoln and Johnny were really fighting.

Again.

"Let go!" Lincoln hissed through his teeth.

"You let go, dorkasaurus."

Lincoln managed to push Johnny's puppet back and Johnny's puppet lunged at it with a wavering scream. They fell into the booth, and it came apart in a shower of wood and nails. Johnny got on top of Lincoln and grabbed his puppet, but stopped when thunderous applause filled the night. Lily shrieked laughter and Mr. Loud chanted, "Stop, I'm gonna pee! Stop, I'm gonna pee!" Lincoln and Johnny looked at each other and exchanged a grin.

They got up, held hands, and bowed.

Johnny wanted a free day to himself, but you know what? Today was pretty cool, and later on, as he lay in bed, he as glad the Louds forced him and Lincoln into it.

If you asked him, it's always the adventures you don't mean to take that wind up being the funnest.

And that was a good way to spend a day.

THE END.


	4. Club Dread

**STR2D3PO: I made a mistake in the first story and had to retcon. **

Lincoln Velazquest stood before the bulletin board outside the gymnasium on a warm spring day, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his drab gray army style coat. His white hair was swept back from his forehead like James Dean in _Rebel Without a Cause _and his orange polo shirt was tucked into his jeans. He carried a comb in his back pocket and sometimes chewed on a toothpick ala Razor Ramon, the only wrestler Dad talked about that Lincoln actually liked. Razor also went by the name Scott Hall. These days, he was old and slow and the only matches he fought were against his own alcoholism. The last time they locked up, Soctt lost so big he wound up lying in the middle of the ring at some podunk indie show so drunk he couldn't even get up. If you think I'm lying, search YouTube, you'll find the video. It's pure cringe and when Lincoln was feeling bad after a colossal failure, he'd watch it until he felt better about himself. _Hey, at least I'm not Scott Holic. _

He called Scott Hall that once in front of Dad, and after calling Lincoln an "insensitive little punk" he grounded him. He was so mad that he grounded Johnny too because he half-smiled when Lincoln said it.

Despite trashing him, Lincoln liked Scott Hall. He also liked James Dean. His grandma, who was a kid in the fifties when Dean was big, freaking loved him and every time he and Johnny went over to her house, she made them watch all of his movies with her. Luckily, he only made three before he Paul Walker'd his way into that great big sock hop in the sky. Lincoln wasn't too big on his movies, but he really liked his style. He was saving his allowance for a leather jacket and was seriously considering buying one of those switchblades you see in the movies. You know, the one where you press a button but instead of a blade, a comb pops out.

Anyway, it was a mild spring afternoon and Lincoln stared up at the board, his brow furrowed in concentration. Chattering kids all crowded around and jostled for position like a bunch of stooges trying to all get through a doorway at once. Someone bumped into Lincoln and he clenched his jaw. Alright, accidents happen -

Something jabbed him in the back and he whipped around, fist balled in anticipation of delivering a crushing blow. Stella jumped back, eyes wide with alarm, and Lincoln relaxed. "Sorry," he said, "I thought you were someone else."

A look of confusion crossed her face. "Who?"

Lincoln shrugged. "I dunno. A bully?"

Stella's shrugged one shoulder. "What's up?" she asked and nodded at the board.

"The club list," Lincoln said.

Stella's eyes widened. "Oh, it's out? Awesome."

At the beginning of the semester, Principal Bodner announced the formation of a dozen after school clubs in addition to the nine pre existing ones. Lincoln was already a member of the chess club and not interested in joining another until he found out that these new clubs would count as extra credit. If you were doing poorly in a class, you could join one and bring your grade up a little. That was a real godsend because he was so close to flunking English he could squint and see the faint outline of a big, red F staring him down like a hate-filled ghost. _You killed me, brah, now I'm coming for you. _

Joining one of the new clubs was a no-brainer, but there was a problem: You didn't get to choose which one you joined. If you wanted, you submitted your name and they put them all in giant hat or something. Lincoln had been on the edge of his seat waiting for this list and when he heard whispered rumors it had been posted, his heart jumped into his chest. He was hoping they put him in cooking. I mean, think about it: Not only is cooking easy (he did it all the time at home), but you also get to eat free food. Win-win-win.

"I wonder which one I got into," Stella mused. She craned her neck left and right to see, then brightened. "Cooking. Just the one I wanted. Which one are you in?"

"I dunno," Lincoln said, "I don't see my -"

Someone shouldered him out of the way, and he bumped into Stella. Alright, whoever did that was getting their butt whipped. He turned, and Johnny was there, scanning the board with his arms crossed over his chest. He wore a jacket much like Lincoln's and a paper bag with a pair of goggles strapped to his forehead like an extra set of eyes. He did that to be different from everyone else, and while Lincoln respected indivuality, it looked really dumb sometimes, especially when Johnny did something to annoy him.

Like now.

"Watch it, baghead," Lincoln said and hit Johnny's shoulder with the heel of his palm.

Johnny staggered to the side and shot Lincoln a dirty look. "What's your problem, Grease?"

He called Lincoln that after the movie. When Lincoln debuted his new look, Johnny laughed and said _You look just like that loser from Grease. _Lincoln hated being called that; it was the worst possible insult he could think of because _Grease _sucked. "You," Lincoln said, "you knocked me out of the way like a punk."

"You shouldn't just be standing here then," Johnny said and hit Lincoln in the shoulder. Pain streaked down Lincoln's arm.

Oh, it was on.

Before he could attack, though, Mr. Lewis, the gym teacher, walked by. He spared them a sour glance, and they both flashed their biggest, most innocent smiles. Nothing to see here, sir. He slowed, but decided he didn't care and kept going.

"Good going," Johnny said and turned back to the board, "you almost got us in trouble."

Lincoln almost snapped back, but stopped himself. He could bicker with Johnny later. Right now he wanted to find out which club he was in. "Come on, art," Johnny said, "I love me some art."

"I want cooking," Lincoln said. He searched for his name and finally found it just as Johnny found his.

Their faces both fell.

"Cooking?" Johnny asked distastefully.

Indeed, his name _was _under the COOKING header.

Lincoln's was under ART.

"Darn it," Lincoln said and threw his head back.

"I don't wanna cook," Johnny said and slumped his shoulders. "Cooking's for losers." He glanced at Lincoln. "No offense."

Lincoln was too distraught to care about Johnny's dumb insult. Art? ART? Art was fine and all, but it wasn't cooking. With art, you have to do assignments and stuff and you don't get nom them down when they're done.

LAME.

Drawing a heavy sigh, he hung his head and dragged himself away, his feet as heavy as his heart. He caught a flicker of movement in his periphery and looked over to see Johnny right beside him in the exact same posture: Head down, desolate face, looking for all the world like someone killed his hopes and dreams.

"Guys?" Stella called after them. There was a note of uncertainty in her voice.

"Ugh." Lincoln and Johnny said in unison.

She hesitated, then lifted a tentative wave. "Okay, I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

In the front lobby, Lincoln and Johnny parted ways, both too preoccupied by their own grief to bid the other farewell; Johnny pushed through the door and started home, and Lincoln went to Room 235, where the chess club met once a week for an hour following the final bell. Most weeks, the members paired off and played a game or two or talked or goofed off. Sometimes, though, the Club President, a fat sixth grader named Lester, arranged for a speaker to come and talk about the game. Last month, he somehow got Jim Horton, the former Chess America All-Star and Jeopardy champion whose sixteen day winning streak netted him almost two million dollars.

Before going in, Lincoln stopped at the bathroom and sat in the far stall for a few minutes with his regrets. He took a gamble and he lost, now he was stuck going to some stupid art club three nights a week.

Any other time, this kind of thing wouldn't faze him, but he really had his heart set on taking that cooking course. He was going to make nachos and pizza and all sorts of other stuff. Instead, he was going to fingerpaint or something. Yay him.

Sighing, he forced himself to his feet and got to Room 235 just as the very last bell of the day resounded through the empty corridors like the midnight cry of a banshee on an Irish moor. The only other person around was that creepy, smelly janitor with the cow skull headband: He swept dirt from beneath the trophy case next to the doors leading into the cafeteria and muttered to himself that his life was BS.

A large, circular table dominated the middle of the room. To the right, a row of computers lined the walls, and on the left, a desk sat before a blackboard on which someone had drawn a crude chalk version of Principal Bodner complete with sharp teeth and stink lines.

Everyone was clustered around the table and shooting the breeze when Lincoln walked in. There were six members counting him: Lester, the President; Sheldon, a scrawny nerd who claimed to be named after the guy from _The Big Bang Theory_; Gaylord, who was so fat his butt spilled over the edges of his chair like melted butter; Payton, the weeb with coal black skin (he was from Nigeria); and, to Lincoln's continued surprise, Lucy Loud.

Small, slight, and pale with straight black hair that covered her eyes, Lucy somehow fit in with the chess geeks while at the same time sticking out like a sore thumb. She was the treasurer of the Young Mortician's Club before they kicked her out for being too weird; she apparently brought in a dead cat she found on the way to school one day. Word on the street was she used it as a puppet and made it dance while she beatboxed for all she was worth. She claimed that was a "malicious lie spread by my former friend Haiku" and Lincoln believed her. She was a little...uh...extra, but she wasn't a freak. He lived right across the street from her and because he often stared out his bedroom window with a pair of binoculars, hoping to catch a glimpse of Luan, he knew she wasn't like that. One time, he watched this girl pick up a baby bird with a broken wing with the care of a woman holding the world in her hands and nurse it back to health. You really expect him to believe she shoved her hand up a dead cat's butt and sang "Mammy" while making it tapdance? Uh-uh.

It was a dirty rumor and nothing else. What he didn't understand was why Haiku would say something like that. Lucy wouldn't tell him what happened between them and when he asked Lynn, she punched him on the shoulder and told him to mind his own business.

The only open chair was between Payton and Lucy. Lincoln dropped into it, drew a burdened breath, and let it out in a wheezing rush. He flopped his head back and stared up at the fluorescent light overhead. Take me now, Lord Jesus.

Something hard hit him in the side and drove the air from his lungs. He lifted his head, and Lucy stared fixedly up at him, her face as blank (and white) as a sheet of paper. He couldn't see her eyes, but he could feel her gaze boring into him, subtly peeling away the layers of his skin and searching his soul like a million brushing fingers. A lump formed in his throat and his heartbeat sped up, pounding like a metal drummer's kit during a coked-up encore of the band's hardest hit.

Maybe he was wrong about her. Maybe she wasn't the kind, gentle girl he took her for. Maybe she wasn't misunderstood, maybe she _was _a cold-blooded puppeteer of dead things and she was trying to figure out the best way to remove his skin. She could -

"Is Johnny with you?" she asked.

All at once, it made sense. Lucy and her younger sisters all had major crushes on Johnny and wouldn't leave the poor guy alone. Lucy wrote strange second person love poetry and left it in the mailbox for him, and one time Lana released her favorite Frog Hopps into his and Lincoln's bedroom as a sign of her affections. Oh, and who could forget the time Lisa concoct a love potion and fed it into Lincoln and Johnn's air vents? It was supposed to make Johnny fall hopelessly in love with her, but it wound up making everyone in the house launch into a frenzy of dance that lasted nearly six hours: Lincoln tangoed with his father up and down the stairs until his feet practically fell off.

"No, he went home.'

Lucy sucked a little intake of breath. "Sigh."

All though the meeting, Lincoln was preoccupied with tomorrow, his first day of art club. He and Lucy played three games in a row and he lost every single one. "You're off today," Lucy oh so helpfully pointed out.

"I know," Lincoln sighed. He lived across the street from the Loud girls and had been dragged into many of their misadventures...he knew them well and genuinely liked them...but he wouldn't say he was particularly close with any of them. He found himself opening up to Lucy anyway. "I wanted to join the cooking club but they put me in the art club instead and I don't _wanna _do art. I wanna cook. Cooking rules."

Lucy favored him with a look that could have been anything from pallid to wan. "I agree. Luckily, I got into the cooking club. But I like art too. Why don't you like art?"

"I just don't," Lincoln said with a dismissive shrug. "Art's okay but it's not what I want to do and I don't even wanna be in there. Johnny gets to cook and I have to -"

Lucy stiffened. "Johnny's in the cooking club?"

"Yeah, he -"

Lucy's mouth twisted into a love drunk squiggle and a pink blush touched her cheeks, blazing scarlet on creamy white. She let out a hazy sigh, fisted her hands to her breast, and smiled. She actually freaking smiled. Not a lot, but just enough that Lincoln was shaken for the rest of the afternoon. At home, he and Johnny sat across the kitchen table from their parents and tried not to laugh at their father's get up. Today, apparently, was an important date in the career of Hulk Hogan, one of Dad's favorite wrestlers. In celebration, he was dressed in a pair of red and yellow tights, a yellow tank top with HULKAMANIA across the chest in red, and a red and yellow bandana. He also wore a fake goatee and sunglasses, a plastic WWF heavyweight championship belt tossed casually over one shoulder. Mom pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. "I can't believe you wore that to work," she said.

"Let me tell you somethin', brother," Dad said in his best Hulk Hogan, and Lincoln cringed. "Hulkamania doesn't take a day off, brother. It's 24/7 in your head and in your house. Hulkamania's not a costume, brother, it's a way of life and I'm livin' life to the fullest, brother."

Lincoln bit down on the insides of his cheeks to keep from saying something, and Johnny clamped his lower lip between his teeth. Lincoln could see an epic roast brewing in his brother's eyes and almost lost his composure because he _knew _it would be good. Johnny was the roast master; he always had the perfect joke, insult, or put down on hand, and he lobbed them like a pitcher lobs home run balls.

Dad took a lot of things seriously (like himself) but none more serious than pro wrestling. A couple months back, some fat slob named Jim Cornette (Lincoln gathered that he was something important in the business) made a racist remark while calling a match, and Dad was beside himself with fury. Okay, Lincoln was half black (though he looked as white as Lucy) so you can pretty much guess where he stood on anti-black racism, but this Cornette guy was a straight redneck from Kentucky who'd been in the business for, like, fifty years. And Dad was surprised that he'd make a racist joke about someone being so fast that they were the only person in the world who could strap a bucket of chicken to his back and make it through Ethiopia? Like, Lincoln would be shocked if he _wasn't _a racist.

His father, on the other hand, was caught completely off guard. Imagine this: A grown man downright seething on Facebook for three days straight because some nobody commentator said something racist (and got fired the next day) and all of his friends, family, and coworkers telling him to calm down. His brother, Lincoln and Johnny's Uncle Lamont, told him him _That's what you get for having white heroes. _A bunch of cousins, aunts, and uncles agreed, and Dad wigged out even harder. _YOUR JUST AS BAD AS HE IS! _He deleted his account right there and refused to talk to any of his family until they apologized for "hating on white people." Lincoln thought the real reason was shame: He realized he made an ass of himself and was too humiliated to show his face.

Then again..look at how he's dressed.

Mom sighed.

After clearing the table and washing the dishes, Lincoln and Johnny went upstairs. They fought over who got to take a shower first, they fought over the primo spot in front of the sink when it came time to brush their teeth, they even fought over who had to set the alarm clock. In the darkness, they lay in their respective beds, neither sleepy, and neither looking forward to tomorrow. "I'm not looking forward to tomorrow," Johnny said.

"Yeah?" Lincoln replied. "Neither am I."

Johnny blew a dismissive raspberry. "What are _you _talking about? You have art. The best club there is."

Rolling onto his side, Lincoln fixed his brother with a withering look. A spill of harsh orange light from a streetlamp outside revealed his profile in fuzzy and indistinct lines. "That's easy to say when you get to go cook tomorrow."

"Cooking sucks, though."

"No, it doesn't."

"It really does, bro," Johnny said. "Art's where it's at. I legit envy you."

Lincoln sighed and stretched out on his back again. "I envy _you_."

Falling asleep was hard that night, and when he finally sank into oblivion, Lincoln dreamed. Esals and framed paintings chased him through an avante-garde hellscape full of melting clocks, screaming aliens, and sly Mona Lisas smiling down at him from the void as though they knew something he didn't...something, something without which he would be rent limb from limb.

And all the while, Johnny got to cook and eat good food.

Darn you...darn you to heck, Johnny!

* * *

The next afternoon, Lincoln sat in his final class of the day and stared anxiously out the window. Warm, spring rain drizzled from the leaden sky and soaked the green athletic field. He turned away, ran his fingers through his hair, and took a deep breath in an effort to calm his rising nerves. In just a few minutes the bell would ring and he would be forced into a class where he didn't want to be to waste time he could spend better elsewhere, like playing video games. Nervous energy surged through him and he trembled and twitched like a high tension wire. The air was hot and stale, the walls pressing against him like the arms of a vise. He tapped his pencil restively on the desk and tried to focus on something else. It wasn't really that bad, he told himself. It wasn't, he knew that, but still.

When the bell finally clanged, he waited for everyone to get up and shuffle out before grabbing his things and getting to his feet. Mrs. Johnson sat behind her desk with her nose buried in a paperback with a shirtless blonde hunk on the cover. Oh, shoot, whaddup, Fabio? Lincoln only knew who that was because his mom had a bunch of romance paperbacks stowed away in the attic next to Dad's old wrestling stuff. He read one called _Confederate Desire _about the CIvil War. It was pretty cool how Atlanta burned up and the one guy got his foot ripped off by a cannonball, but the romance stuff was kind of awkward, especially when they took their clothes off.

He skipped that chapter.

In the hall, he weaved through crowds of kids, made it to his locker, and opened it. He stuffed his things inside, closed it, and sagged his shoulders. Alright, here goes.

Yeah...here wound up being the bathroom. He sat on the closed lid in the far stall against the wall and stared down at his feet. He planned to go to the art room eventually, but he wasn't in a rush. He pulled out his phone, checked his Discord, and fired off a text to Sid who wanted to know if his family used wash clothes in the shower or loofah. _Neither, we just use a raw bar of soap. _

She replied with a puking face emoji.

What?

It's not like they washed their bodies with it. They just lathered up their hands.

He put his phone away and took a deep breath that locked in his lungs when the bathroom door opened. Slow footfalls clicked ominously on the tiled floor and reverberated off the walls like the hoofbeats of approaching doom, and in an instant, Lincoln knew that they meant trouble. He swallowed and watched beneath the stall as a pair of brown loafers came into view. Only one man wore shoes like that, and his name was -

"Lincoln Loud," Principal Bodner said in this wispy voice of his, "I know you're in there, young man. Come out."

Darn it.

The jig was up.

Getting to his feet, Lincoln opened the door. Principal Bodner, short with black hair and prissy features, put his hands on his hips and glared down at him. "Skipping your club, huh?"

"N-No," Lincoln lied.

Principal Bodner shook his head. He snatched Lincoln by the back of his coat and lead him into the hall, where Johnny waited with his head down. Lincoln blinked in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"He caught me hiding behind a trash can," Johnny said.

Principal Bodner grabbed Johnny by his coat and guided both boys down the hall. "You elected to participate in these clubs and you know the rules going in. If you'd like to drop out, we can call your parents and -"

"NO!" Lincoln and Johnny cried in unison. If he called home, their dad would whip their butts in a triple steel cage with razor wire for ropes.

"Then you are both going to your club and you will not make any trouble, do you understand?"

Lincoln and Johnny looked at each other, then nodded vigorously. "Yes, sir," Johnny said.

"We promise," Lincoln added.

The cooking room was at the end of the hall and on the right. Principal Bodner released Lincoln, opened the door, and shoved Johnny in. Lincoln got the briefest, most tantalizing flash of a kitchen and happy, smiling kids in aprons, then the door fell closed and Bodner was pulling him away. The art room was down another hall, situated between the library and the nurse's office. Principal Bodner twisted the knob and manhandled Lincoln over the threshold. "If I hear a single little peep from you," he warned, "I will come down on you like judgement day. Understood?"

Lincoln nodded. "Yes sir."

Principal Bodner closed the door.

Sighing, Lincoln turned. Kids sat at long, paint-stained tables and worked on drawings while the art teacher, Mrs. Lender, glided around the room in a smock. She looked up at him and flashed a quick smile. "Welcome, Lincoln," she said, "please have a seat."

Lincoln hung his head and shuffled over to one of the tables, sinking into the first empty seat he saw. "Hey, Linc."

He looked up. Lana Loud grinned broadly, showing off her missing teeth.

"Lana?" Lincoln asked, tasting her name as though it were alien and not wholly pleasant. "What are you doing here?"

She shrugged. "Eh, I gotta bring my grades up."

Lincoln's brow creased. "You're six, what are you failing, nap time?"

A dark shadow flickered across Lana's face. "Shapes and colors are a lot harder than they look, buddy. What are _you _failing, doofus class?"

"English," he said.

Lana rolled her eyes. "English? Really? Even I know English. It are my specialty."

Yeah, okay.

Mrs. Lender came over and sat piece of construction paper in front of Lincoln. "We're free drawing today," she said. "Draw whatever you like. There is no right way or wrong way to create art."

Good to know.

Lincoln took a colored pencil from the plastic tub between him and Lana and stared down at the page, stuck for what to draw. He thought back to the glimpse of kitchen he caught before Bodner shut Johnny up in the cooking room. A stainless steel fridge nestled in an alcove, an overhead microwave, appliances, green countertops, woodwork, happiness, food, ugh,

He didn't realize he had started to draw until the image began to take shape before him. Giving himself to the rush of the moment, he plastered his tongue to his upper lip and leaned into the fall. He sketched everything he remembered from the cooking room, even the other kids and their joyous expressions. The tip of his pencil blazed across the paper and by the time Mrs. Lender asked everyone to turn in their drawings, he had rendered a nearly true to life depiction of the kitchen. He stared dazedly down at it, unable to believe that it came from _him_, and Lana leaned over to see. "Whoa. That's pretty good. Mine's better, though." She held up a picture of crude stick figures holding hands under a smiling sun.

Before leaving, everyone dropped their drawing off at Mrs. Lender's desk. When it was Lincoln's turn, he sat it proudly on top of the pile. She glanced at it and her eyes widened. "Wow, that's very good, Lincoln. Do you have formal training?"

Lincoln shrugged. "No, I just...did it."

"This is amazing. You may have a future in art."

Lincoln didn't know about that, but he did know one thing: He enjoyed himself, and now, he couldn't wait until the next meeting.

* * *

Lucy bent, opened the oven, and frowned. "I don't think they're done."

Johnny squatted next to her and peered into the depths. A tray of dough balls sat on the top rack. "We better leave them in there longer." He stood up, went over to the counter, and checked the first batch. Chocolate chip cookies stared up at him, begging to be eaten. He used a spatula to pry one off the tray and carefully took a bite. It was soft and moist and good, with hints of cinnamon and spice. Lucy shut the oven door and grabbed a cookie of her own.

"These are really good," Johnny said and crammed another one into his mouth.

"Thanks," Lucy said. "It's my Grandma Harriet's recipe."

Johnny swallowed. "I didn't know you had a grandma. Where does she live?"

"She's dead."

Oh.

"I'm sorry."

"I have seances with her all the time," Lucy said, "that's how I got this recipe."

Ah.

That made total sense.

Johnny grabbed another cookie and crunched it between his teeth. They were hardening. He couldn't tell if he liked them better hard or soft.

Around them, kids decorated cupcakes and sat pies out to cool. The smell of warm goodness filled the air and Johnny took a deep breath through his nose. The teacher walked around, inspecting everyone's pastries, and Johnny turned his back to her so she didn't see that he was eating. _No eating anything until the end of class, _she said earlier. Whoops. Sorry.

Lucy hung her head and chewed faster but not fast enough. The teacher came over and looked at the tray, not noticing a bunch of cookies were missing or pretending not to. "This looks very good, Lucy and Johnny."

They _are _good.

At the end of the class, everyone gathered at a large table to one side of the room and sat the fruits of their labors in the middle. There were Danishes, cakes, candies, brownies, cookies, pies, tarts, and a thousand other things that Johnny couldn't name. He licked his chops like a hungry dog as the teacher sampled each one. He really wished he was her right now, all that stuff looked _really _good.

"Alright, class," she said when she was done, "get a plate and dig in."

Johnny's jaw dropped. They got to eat all this stuff too?

He grabbed a paper plate from a stack and loaded it down with as much as it could hold, then ate until he was stuffed whereupon...he ate a little more. "Cooking class rules," he said through a mouth full of fudge and icing.

"You rule," Lucy said. She stared up at him with a little blush.

"Uh...thanks."

Following class, Johnny met up with Lincoln outside and they started home through the rapidly darkening afternoon. "I'm gonna burst," Johnny said. "You were right about cooking class. It rocks. How was art?"

"It was a lot of fun," Lincoln said. "I drew a really cool picture now I wanna draw another one."

Huh.

Looks like everything worked out for the best, Johnny thought.

At least until the sugar high wore off and he fell asleep at the dinner table.

"Johnny!"

Johnny startled awake. His father stood over him dressed like Hulk Hogan. "You, me, steel cage, right now, brother."

When he woke up the next morning and realized that was just a dream, he swore off eating that much sugar ever again.

Then he attended his next meeting of cooking class and that went right out the window.

Could you really blame him, though?

Cooking is _awesome_.


	5. Hand Me Downer

To an outside observer, the Velazquest family was solidly middle class. They had a big house with a trampoline and a spacious backyard, two fairly new cars, and high speed internet access that got you from zero to Discord in 0.1 seconds (nope, still nothing good in my Ace Savvy OC server, dang it).

But looks, as they say, can be deceiving. In actuality, Lincoln and Johnny's family was kind of poor. Dad worked at a meat packing plant stacking hamburger patties into boxes, Mom was a homemaker who occasionally sold crafts online, and Lincoln and Johnny were kids, so they didn't make any money on their own. Dad brought home enough to put food on the table, clothes on their backs, and pay the bills, but outside of that, finances were a _little _tight. Add in Dad's wrestling obsession and you have a recipe for broke-as-a-joke stew.

Did you know this man once saved up 20,000 dollars over five years to buy one of Ric Flair's frilly sequin robes? And he didn't even put it on display or anything, he literally had it chilling in his closet and wore it around the house. He even ate in it, a fact to which the patchwork of food stains across the front bore damning testament.

Anyway, he was always spending money on wrestling junk so Lincoln had Johnny had to make their own coin. At first, they hustled and scammed other kids at the playground and earned a reputation as a couple snake oil salesmen. When people stopped buying what they were selling, they tried to pick pockets, but their first time they got caught and roughed up by a gang of greasers who looked like The Bubble Poppin' Boys only scarier. Hey, it was Johnny's idea to try and lift a wallet from a pair of skin tight Levi's attached to a 250 pound James Dean wannabe. Lincoln told him he'd crash and burn and he did...boy, did he ever

Anyway, Lincoln and Johnny weren't cut out for robbing people, so they had to get creative. They tried having a garage sale but there wasn't much to sell except Dad's old WWF action figures from the eighties. They'd been sitting in a box in the attic for years and Dad occasionally asked Mom where they were, but didn't seem _too _concerned with them. Maybe they could hock them and get a little bit of cash.

Nope.

Dad pulled into the driveway, saw, and ran over with a big NOOOOOOO that responded through the neighborhood like thunder. His pants started to fall, he pulled them up, fell, got back to his feet, and fell again. Lincoln and Johnny just looked at each other. _Is this really happening? _Johnny's eyes asked.

_He's worse than the 3 Stooges, _Lincoln's replied.

"MY THINGS!" Dad wailed. He gathered them all up like a mother hen pulling her chicks to her bosom and shot them a dirty look. "You monsters," he said in a low, cracking voice, "monsters."

Back into the box they went.

Sigh.

_Dude, you don't even play with them, _Johnny said.

After that he did. Lincoln and Johnny would come into the living room and find him sitting on the floor with his legs crossed and action figures strewn around. He smashed them together and made little explody noises with his mouth every time one took a bump.

Okay then.

Finally, after a lot of bickering, brainstorming, and slap fighting, Lincoln and Johnny decided to open a bike repair shop in their garage. They did paintjobs, sanding, rims, you name it, and they kept costs low by stealing parts from the junkyard. Steve, the guy who ran the place, didn't chase them out because he stopped caring around 2009. They usually passed his Airstream trailer on the way out, and if he happened to be sitting at the broken down plastic patio table out front, he waved.

They waved back.

Working on bikes was the perfect moneymaker: Lincoln and Johnny both enjoyed it and they always had a steady stream of customers in their friends and classmates. Poppa Wheelie, a big gearhead (and I mean _big _as in _overweight_) came in once a month like clockwork to have his seat re enforced. Sella had them attach a white wicker basket and pink tassles to hers, then came back to have the frame painted pink. She asked them to draw little white flowers on it. They haggled a bit and agreed to 25 cents per flower.

They got a little carried away and added a bunch.

Like _a bunch _a bunch.

Anyway, their best customers were, surprisingly, the Loud girls. They lived right across the street and bringing a damaged rig in was as easy as looking both ways and walking. Lincoln wasn't surprised that they needed a lot of repair jobs - they were rough, tumble, and always breaking stuff - but he was shocked they had the money to afford them. Their family was even poorer than Lincoln and Johnny's; there were twelve people in that house, it'd be strange if they _weren't _poor. Somehow, though, each and every one of them had ready cash on hand. Sometimes, they didn't even need a repair, they just wanted an upgrade.

Like, seriously, where are getting all this green?

_I guess that's what it's like to have a Dad who doesn't blow his paycheck on toys, _Lincoln said to Johnny once.

Johnny pursed his lips. _Dude...Mr. Loud makes them eat Vienna sausage pieces in Van Camp Pork 'n' Beans. They're obviously making it on their own. _

True. If the Loud parents were reaping in mad bank, they wouldn't eat garbage. Luan had her comedy business (_serving birthdays, office parties, and bar mitzvahs, _read her ad in the _Royal Woods Moderate_). Lori...uh...didn't she work at the gas station? Leni sold stuff over the internet like Mom, Lana had a handyman business and, rumor had it, sold small animals she found at the park.

In other words, some of the girls had a steady source of income, but others didn't. Who knew, maybe they had a rich grandfather who died and left them each a fortune, or maybe their dad was really loaded but pretended to be poor so that distant relatives he'd never met before didn't come at him with their hands stuck out.

Or maybe the girls were running some kind of cookie cartel and using the Bluebell Scouts as a front for selling their illegal wares.

LOL.

Wow, talk about a dumb idea.

Regardless, they all had cash on hand and they frequented Lincoln and Johnny's Garage the way Dad frequented WWE On Demand. Lincoln and Johnny split the profits 50/50, and Lincoln had at least two hundred bucks hidden in his sock drawer. Johnny, not as frugal, had, like, fifty; he kept making it rain at Flip's and the mall. He once shoved a twenty into Mrs. Johnson's pocket, winked, and said, _for looking the other way while I skip the math test. _

She reported him to Principal Bodner and he got three days ISS. LMAO. Get rekt, dummy.

Of the Loud girls, the one who came over most was Lynn. Lincoln and Johnny called her Wreck-It Ralph, because that's exactly what she did to her bike - wrecked it. Royal Woods is surrounded by steep, densely forested hills crisscrossed with bike paths. Lynn just _loved _charging down each one like the police were after her, which resulted in lots of accidents and lots of business for L&J's. Lincoln and Johnny had buffed, sanded, painted, and restored her bike so many times that they were practically one a first name basis with it: Johnny called it Calamity Jane. Lynn liked it and started calling it that too. She thought it was some kind of female empowerment thing, since Calamity Jane was a tough cowgirl or something, but no, Johnny called it that because it went through one calamity after another.

The most work they ever had to do on it was the time it went over a cliff. Not only did they have to hike into the hills with Lynn to retrieve it, they had to fix EVERYTHING. When they found it, it was just the frame. The seat was gone, the wheels were gone, the handlebars were gone, it was a _mess_. They made fifty off it, though, and Lincoln secretly hoped she wrecked it that bad again.

On a sunny Friday afternoon in mid-May, Lincoln and Johnny were putzing around the garage. The big roll top door was open to the street and warm puffs of spring wind swept through, bringing with it the smell of honeysuckle, freshly cut grass, and barbequing chicken. Lincoln sat on a dusty work bench and sipped from a can of Chocolate Cherry Cola while Johnny swept the cracked and oil stained cement floor. They hadn't had any business in days and were using the lull to tidy the place up; normally, there were parts, debris, and trash strewn all over, and by the end of the day they were too tired to deal with it.

Setting the broom aside, Johnny came over, leaned against the table, and crossed his arms. He surveyed the room, looking for something else to do. "I think that's it," he said sadly.

Lincoln reached behind his back, grabbed another can, and handed it to Johnny, who cracked it open and took a long, thirsty drink. "Let's wait a few more minutes," Lincoln said.

"Five," Johnny said. He belched and sat his soda aside. "Then I'm going inside to play video games."

That was fair. Lincoln didn't want to sit around an empty garage and twiddle his thumbs either, but he also didn't relish the idea of giving up so soon. He wanted an X-Station 3000 and those things went for 400 dollars. If they didn't start generating some income, he'd never get one. His mind flashed back to Poppa Wheelie and his daily taunts. _Still don't have the new X-Station? Dude, you're a loser! _That was bad, but even worse was Stella and Liam. They both had one and at lunch, they talked about all the cool games. _Steal That Car: 2393 AD; Call of Honor: War in Space; Ace Savvy 3 _(the open world sandbox one); _RoadKill 2: CoronaVirus_; and _WAWR, _the Wrestling Alliance World Rumble game where you and a friend assume the roles of color commentary and play-by-play announcer. Johnny said if they got it, they could call the matches all wrong and trigger Dad.

_That's not how you do it, _Lincoln could hear his father saying sourly. Lincoln couldn't wait to call a match where a steel chair came into play. _Oh my God, he just hit him with a foam-padded, fake steel chair!_

_IT'S NOT FAKE! _Dad would seethe. _IT'S REAL! REAL! REAL!_

Sure it is, Dad, sure it is.

They needed cold, hard greenbacks if they were going to make their dreams a reality, and that meant not dipping out before -

That thought broke off when Lynn Loud, clad in jogging shorts and a red T-shirt, pushed her bike into the garage. 'Hey, fellas," she said, "I need some work done on Ol' Calamity."

_Some work _was soldering a crack in the frame, replacing the back tire because the spokes were all messed up, and aligning the front end. For a while, Lynn hung out but left after an hour for butt ball practice. No, really, it's a sport where you bump a big beach ball across an indoor court with your butt. Lincoln thought it was dumb, but he thought most sports were dumb.

At seven, as the waning dusk drained from the day, Johnny rocked back on his knees and dragged the back of his hand across his forehead. The bike, propped upside down on its seat, was half done and the light was fading fast. "How about we pick this back up tomorrow?" Johnny asked wearily.

Lincoln gave the bike a quick once over. The tires were on but the front end still pulled to the left and the frame was still cracked. They had roughly two hours of work left. If they kept going, they wouldn't be done until nine.

"Yeah, might as well," Lincoln said and yawned, "I'm tired." He got to his feet and stretched.

"I'll clean up."

"Alright," Lincoln said, "close the garage door when you're done."

"'Kay."

Lincoln went inside while Johnny turned the bike right side up and leaned it against the work bench. He picked up the hand tools fanned out across the floor, put them away, and wheeled the welding tank over to its customary corner. He dusted his hands off and patted himself on the back. "Ya did good today, Johnny," he congratulated himself.

Snapping the light off, he went inside.

Totally forgetting to close the garage door.

* * *

The next morning, Johnny sat next to Lincoln at the kitchen table, grabbed a box of Coco Os, and poured them into a bowl. Bright spring sunshine streamed through the window over the sink and decked the room in golden hues. It was warm, mild, and as soon as he and Lincoln were done with Lynn's bike, he was going to the park. He didn't know what exactly he was going to do there, but the day was too nice to waste; he'd figure something out.

Mom poured a mug of coffee, sat it next to Dad's plate, and went back to the counter for toast. The man himself had yet to put in his first appearance of the day. He worked 9 to 5 Monday through Friday and slept in on the weekends. "How come Dad gets fried eggs and toast and we have to eat cold cereal?" Johnny asked.

"Would you like an egg, honey?" Mom asked.

Johnny's nose crinkled. "Ew, no, you just never offer."

"Because I know you don't like them."

Lincoln glanced at him and rolled his eyes as if to say _wow, you're really dumb. _Johnny didn't like that, so he rammed his elbow into Lincoln's side. Lincoln cried out and slammed his fist against Johnny's leg. Pain rippled out from the point of impact and he yelped.

"Boys," Mom said sharply, "knock it off or -"

A loud _gong _echoed through the house. Mom jumped, Lincoln froze, and Johnny cried out. Another followed, and suddenly, smoke rolled in through the archway leading to the living room. "What's happening?" Mom screamed.

The mist grew thicker, and a figure appeared in its depths like a terrifying creature beneath placid waters. Johnny's heart jumped into his throat, Lincoln's face went white, and Mom grabbed a carving knife from the butcher block and thrust it shakily out in front of her. The figure seemed to grow until it was massive, ten feet if not more, and Lincoln and Johnny clung to each other in terror.

It stepped out of the fog and -

Record scratch.

It was just Dad, dressed in a long black trench coat, a wide brim hat, and purple gloves. Mom's face dropped into a disapproving glower and Johnny shoved Lincoln away. Was this guy really doing this?

"Really, Jason?" Mom demanded.

Dad lifted his head and looked at her, his expression blank.

"Really?" she asked again and crossed her arms. Her hip cocked to one side and Johnny looked away. That meant she was _mad_.

Johnny glanced at Lincoln, and Lincoln nodded. _Let's get out of here_.

"It's Undertaker Day," Dad said.

Mom's jaw clenched. "It's how about you dress like a normal person for once day."

"You never let me have any fun, Elizabeth," Dad charged.

Johnny and Lincoln got up and slunk to the back door. The last thing Johnny heard was Mom telling Dad, "You don't even look like The Undertaker, you look like the guy from the Quaker Oats box."

BURN.

"Dad needs an intervention," Lincoln says as they went around to the front of the garage.

"No, what he really needs is to step into the ring with a real wrestler," Johnny said, "that'll sober him up _real _quick."

Lincoln started to reply, but the words died on his lips.

The garage door was open.

"Uh...did you close the door last night?" Lincoln asked.

Johnny opened his mouth to say _yes, _but couldn't since he kind of, uh, didn't. He nervously rubbed the back of his neck. "I forgot."

"Dude," Lincoln cried. He shoved Johnny out of the way and ran in. Johnny followed. "Where's Lynn's bike?"

"I put it over -"

It wasn't there.

They looked at each other.

Breaking up, they tore the garage apart looking for Lynn's bike, just on the off chance that Johnny misplaced it...or Dad moved it, or it changed places on its own accord. "I'm not finding it!" Lincoln shouted hysterically over his shoulder.

"Neither am I," Johnny said and rifled through a plastic cup full of screws. "It's not in here."

They met up in the middle of the room. Sweat lightly coated Johnny's face and his lungs burst for air. This was not good. He messed up and now Lynn's bike was MIA. If she found out, she'd pound him into a mud patch. They'd have to use dental records to identify him. That's if they ever found him in the first place. "She's gonna kill us," he moaned.

"Us?" Lincoln asked. "You're the one who left the door open like a doofus."

"You should have checked my work!"

Lincoln cocked his fist, then pressed it to his lips and worriedly chewed his thumbnail. "Alright, we gotta find it before Lynn -"

"Hey, guys," Lynn Loud said.

No two words had ever been more terrifying, not even _Wrestlemania marathon. _A chill went down Johnny's spine and his life flashed before his eyes. Well...it's been a good run. Not a long one, but a good one.

"Uh, hey, Lynn," Lincoln said. They both turned to face her, neither one able to meet her eyes. "How's it going?"

Lynn shrugged. "Eh, been worse. I'm here to pick up Ol' Calamity."

Heh. Too late...someone else already did.

Lincoln was sweating. "Uh, well, there's been a slight delay…"

"Why?" Lynn asked.

Johnny coughed. "You see…"

Picking up on their nervousness, Lynn narrowed her eyes. "What did you do to my bike?"

"Nothing," Lincoln said.

"We just -"

She snatched both of them by the fronts of their shirts and dragged their faces to hers. Lincoln squealed in terror and Johnny whipped his head to one side so she couldn't break his nose or knock his teeth out. He could stand a fractured cheek but not a broken schnozz. "It was Lincoln," he blurted. "He left the garage door open and someone stole your bike."

Lincoln gasped. Sorry, bro, every man for himself. "No! It was Johnny! He did it!"

"You losers let someone steal my bike?" Lynn growled.

"We're sorry," they trembled in unison.

Johnny squeezed his eyes closed in anticipation of being beaten to a pulp, but instead, Lynn released them. Drawing a deep sigh, she hung her head in a stooped shouldered posture of grief. "Man...now I'm gonna lose the tournament."

"Tournament?" Johnny asked.

"The big mountain trail race," Lynn explained. "I've been practicing for weeks and it's today."

Oh.

"You can borrow Lincoln's bike," Johnny offered.

Lincoln nodded quickly, egare to do anything to molify her. "Yeah, you can borrow my bike."

"Your bike sucks," Lynn said, and Lincoln flinched a little. "I need Ol' Calamity." She sighed heavily and turned around. "I guess I'll just forfeit. Thanks a lot, guys."

She dragged herself miserably away, and Johnny frowned. Lynn Loud Jr. wasn't the type to get dejected. Mad, yes, upset, totally, but not...this. He had known her for a while (he couldn't remember exactly how long) and he had never seen sadness and desolation on her face.

Until now.

If she was this bummed, that race was probably _really _important to her, and the thought of her missing it - all because of him - twisted his stomach in knots. "Wait," he said.

She stopped and looked over her shoulder.

"We'll help you find it."

Lincoln's lips puckered ever so slightly in expression of his doubt. 'We will?" he asked.

"Sure," Johnny said. "We'll find it in no time."

Lynn mulled over his proposition for a moment, then the natural fire in her eyes returned. "Alright," she said, "let's get started."

An hour later, Johnny and Lincoln walked down Main Street with teetering stacks of fliers in their arms. Lincoln's knees bent and shook and his arms visibly strained. "Dude," he grunted, "this is really heavy."

Johnny knew. He was the one who divided the fliers in the first place, and he made sure to give his brother more. Hey, work smarter, not harder, right? "Don't be a baby," he said. "Slap one on that telephone pole."

Gritting his teeth, Lincoln waddled over, swaying left and right like a drunk, then bent and sat his stack on the sidewalk. He took a sheet off the top and stapled it to the pole while Johnny taped one of his own in the front window of a consignment shop. From there, they papered every surface they could reach: Doors, windows, walls, fences, parked cars, a fire hydrant, Johnny even pinned one to a homeless man curled up on his side asleep. Feeling bad, Johnny tucked a dollar into the beer bottle clutched in his hand.

At Flip's, they put a flier on every gas pump. Lincoln plastered his last one to the window, and Johnny stuck his to the ice chest flanking the door. He put his hands on his hips and studied it. HAVE YOU SEEN ME? It read. Below was a crude drawing of Lynn's bike. IF YOU FIND ME CALL LINCOLN AND JOHNNY.

He reread it three times before revelation struck him, and his smile dropped. "Uh, Linc?"

Lincoln sat against the wall with his head down. "What?" he panted.

"You think we should have added our phone number to the fliers?"

Silence.

"What?"

He got to his feet and examined Johnny's flier, then his. "Aw, crud."

Before Johnny could suggest going back and penciling it in on all 250 copies, the walkie talkie in his coat pocket crackled and Lynn's voice issued forth. "Dumb and Dumber, this is Sports Goddess, over."

After making the fliers, Lynn went to canvas the neighborhood for witnesses starting with her own family. She _wanted _to start with Mom and Dad, but Johnny nixed that idea. _They're arguing over Dad dressing like the Undertaker again._

_The Underwho? _Lynn asked, confused.

_He's an undead mortician, _Lincoln said.

_I thought he was a biker, _Johnny said.

Lincoln furrowed his brow. _Wait, maybe that Paul Bear guy was the mortician and Taker was some random dead body he brought back to life and forced into wrestling. _

_Imagine dying and waking up in the WWF._

Lincoln looked around as if at strange and unpleasant surroundings. Deepening his voice, he asked, _Is this heaven?_

_No, it's the World Wrestling Federation._

_Dude, all you had to say was no._

They laughed and Lynn looked at them like they were crazy.

"Dumb and Dumber, do you copy, over?"

Whoops. Daydreaming again. He dug the radio out and held down the TALK button. "Dumb and Dumber, over."

"Little Jimmy across the street says he saw a boy riding off on my bike. He said it went due west down Franklin then turned onto Carsdale Street. I'm going to check it out. You guys go to the park. Over."

"Copy. Over and out."

He shoved the radio back into his pocket and jerked his chin in the general direction of Miller Park. "C'mon."

They set off and arrived fifteen minutes later. Being a Saturday, the place was packed with kids, some flying kites by the duck pond, others climbing over playground equipment, and others still riding bikes. Johnny looked around and froze. "Dude," he said and slapped Lincoln's chest with the back of his hand, "Lynn's bike."

50 feet away, a boy about eight in a helmet, knee pads, and elbow pads, rode up and down a ribbon of sidewalk. Lincoln squinted and held up his hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun. "It _is _Lynn's bike."

"Let's go."

They ran over and got there just as the kid started off. "Hey!" Johnny yelled.

The kid looked over his shoulder, saw them, and looked scared, just like he ought to. He pedeled faster, and Johnny pushed himself harder. He caught up to the kid, grabbed him by the back of his shirt, and dragged him off. "You little punk," he said and threw him to the ground. "You get off on stealing people's bikes, huh?"

The kid lay on his back like a turtle, his eyes wide with fear. "I oughta beat you up." Johnny balled his fist, and the boy cringed.

"Uh...Johnny?"

"Not now, Linc," Johnny said, "I'm gonna kick this kid's butt and teach him a lesson."

He started to fall on his prey, but Lincoln pulled him back. "Dude, that's not Lynn's bike."

Johnny blinked. "Huh?"

"It's not her bike. It doesn't have the crack on the frame."

Oh.

OH.

Johnny turned to the kid. "Uh, I'm sorry. I -"

"_MOM!"_

Oh no. "Hey, kid, I'm sorry, I -"

"_MOM HELP!"_

Johnny tried to calm the boy, but stopped when the earth rumbled. He and Lincoln turned just in time to see a massive woman charging at them like a bull. Her leg muscles flexed and her toned arms pumped. From the fuzz on her upper lip and the hard set of her eyes, Johnny knew exactly who she was.

Mom.

Screaming, Johnny and Lincoln bolted. Johnny's paper bag hat thing flew off and landed on the ground, but he didn't stop until he and Lincoln were three blocks away. Johnny bent, clasped his hands to his knees, and fought to catch his breath. Lincoln sank to his knees, slapped his hands to the ground, and dry heaved. Johnny looked back.

The woman was gone.

"Darn," he said, "I guess we -"

He caught a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye and turned just as someone on a bike turned a corner and disappeared. His eyes went to the crack on the frame and he jolted. "Lynn's bike!"

Lincoln shot him a dirty look. "Shut up."

"No, really!"

"I'm not falling for it, dude," Lincoln said.

Okay, then don't. Johnny snatched the back of Lincoln's jacket and pulled him to his feet. He dragged him along until he ripped away. "Fine," Lincoln said, "but if you're wrong this time, I'm chokeslamming you through a steel cage."

Johnny ignored him.

At the end of the street, the biker turned right. "C'mon!"

Johnny started running and Lincoln fell in behind him. They rounded the corner, and up ahead, the dastardly scoundrel who stole Lynn's bike parked it against a tree and jumped off. They wore jeans, a hoodie, and had black hair..

Oh, and two soon to be black eyes.

"Hey," Johnny cried, but it came out as a pained wheezed. "You...you're toast, buddy."

The thief turned, and Johnny came to a shuffling halt.

Those brown eyes, narrowed in defiance; that ponytail; that overbite; that thick, bushy unibrow.

"What was that?" Ronnie Anne Santiago asked.

Of all the people in the world, Ronnie Anne was the last person Johnny would have suspected, mainly because he didn't think to. He and Lincoln had kind of a love/hate thing going on with her. They were kind of friends, kind of enemies...almost like tag team partners thrown together and forced to wrestle side-by-side even though they hated one another. Think Hulk Hogan and Andre the Giant, or Vince Russo and Jim Cornette.

Okay, maybe it wasn't quite like _that_, but things were complicated. Johnny couldn't say he trusted Ronnie Anne to never do anything messed up, but yoinking a bike from his garage?

"Why?" he asked.

"Why what?"

"Why'd you steal Lynn's bike?" Lincoln put in.

Ronnie Anne rolled her eyes. "I didn't steal it," she said. "I borrowed it. Now I'm done."

"Why'd you do it?" Lincoln asked.

Johnny hooked his thumb at his brother. "Answer the man's question."

Ronnie Anne shoved her hands into the oversized pockets of her hoodie and shrugged her shoulders. "I came over to your house earlier, you guys weren't out, so I hung around your garage and finished off your Chocolate Cherry Cola, then I got bored and wanted to go for a ride."

Johnny's jaw dropped. "Wait, you drank all our stuff?"

Leaning forward, Ronnie Anne belched in his face. Yep, it smelled like Chocolate Cherry Cola alright. "I'm going home, see you losers later."

With that, she brushed past him and took her leave. He and Lincoln watched her go, then looked at each other. "Why do we even hang with her?" Lincoln asked.

Johnny had no answer for that. "Whatever, just grab Lynn's bike."

Letting Lincoln pedal, Johnny stood on the back pegs and braced himself on his brother's shoulders. Lynn was sitting despondent in their driveway, legs crossed and head down. She looked up, saw her bike, and jumped to her feet. "You found it!"

"Yep," Johnny said and jumped off. "I did it all on my own. Lincoln here wasn't much help at all."

"You almost got us killed," Lincoln said.

"Yeah, but -"

Lynn held up her hand. "Just finish fixing my bike so I can go do my thing."

"Right," Johnny said.

Normally, it would have taken two hours to fix the frame and align the front end, but they hauled butt and got it done in just over an hour as a gesture of apology. When they were finished, Lynn hopped on and rode in circles around the garage to test it out. "It rides like brand new," she said.

Johnny put his hands proudly on his hips. That, of course, was his doing. If it rode like crap, it'd be Lincoln's. "So it's all good."

"Yep," Lynn said, doing doughnuts.

"Great. Now the matter of pay."

But Lynn was already riding out the door. _Ding ding. _

"I guess we deserved that," Johnny said.

Lincoln sighed. "Probably."

They made their way inside to do something - anything - not involving bikes.

That wound up being watching their father play with wrestling action figures on the coffee table.

Best. Saturday. Ever.

Not.


	6. Bully Boyz

Sometimes, things just...happen. And not little things, either, _big _things, huge things, life-changing things. One minute you're walking down Main on your way to Flip's, and the next minute, everything's black because Chris Kanyon came out of nowhere dressed like DDP and hit you with a random Kanyon Kutter, now you're dead. Lincoln wasn't a history expert but he knew enough to realize that a lot of the biggest events that shaped the world just...boom, here it is.

And his history was no different.

It was a sunny May afternoon and he and Johnny were eating lunch on the bleachers overlooking the athletic field. Kids chased each other, tossed balls around, and otherwise worked up a sweat while the few who didn't scarf down their food so they could hurry up and play looked on. Lincoln sat his lunch box in his lap and stole a quick look around to make sure no one was looking, then opened it. He _wanted _an Ace Savvy lunch box but his father killed that noise _real _quick. _I have a bunch of lunch boxes in the attic, use one of those. _

The only problem was: They were wrestling themed. Hulk Hogan, The Rock, Sting, Goldberg, there was even one with the WCW Monday Nitro broadcast team with their arms crossed and serious expressions on their faces. They looked for all the world like a bunch of middle aged accountants trying to be hip and edgy. One was even wearing sunglasses. GAG. Beggars can't be choosers, though, so he swallowed his pride and took one with the old school WWF logo on the front. He felt like the world's biggest schmuck carrying it around, so he slapped a piece of duct tape over it. Now he lived in mortal terror that it would fall off at the wrong moment and everyone would see. He imagined shocked gasps, contemptuous stares, and open disgust. _Dude, the WWF? Gross. _He heard them throwing all the taunts he'd thrown at his old man over the years. _WWF stands for Where Wrestlers Fake _and _if you wanna watch sweaty, shirtless men dancing around, Logo is Channel 354. _

Shiver.

He'd rather people think he watched Blarney the Dinosaur than Monday Night Raw.

Anyway, the lunch box sucked but not what was inside. Mom, ever the homemaker, preloaded it each morning with the best lunch she could scramble together. Today's offering was a ham sandwich topped with potato chips, apple slices, a Handi-Snack (little breadsticks and cheese for dipping), a juice pouch, and a single Oreo cookie. Lincoln licked his lips and glanced at Johnny. His lunch box had Chyna on it. Chyna was a female wrestler with more muscles than most men. Johnny drew a beard and mustache on her with a Sharpie, and when Dad saw it, he said something about "desecration" and ISIS blowing up historical landmarks. Lincoln wasn't really paying attention.

"What'd you get?" Lincoln asked.

Johnny took a sandwich out of the lunch box and turned it this way and that. "Chicken salad on white. Potato chips. An Oreo. And apple slices."

Ew, chicken salad. That stuff looked like baby puke and smelled like butt, why Johnny liked it, he'd never know, but the guy went crazy for it.

"I dunno why you eat that crud," he said. "It's nasty."

Johnny rolled his eyes. "Don't you literally eat peanut butter on sauerkraut?"

"That's different," Lincoln said. "That actually tastes good."

"If wrestling was a food," Johnny said, "it would taste like peanut butter and sauerkraut."

Lincoln's eyes narrowed. Did Johnny really just say that? "Take that back," he hissed through his teeth.

"Stop picking on me for liking chicken salad," Johnny said.

Lincoln's first instinct was to knock the sandwich out of his hand and make him eat it off the ground, but he stayed his hand. If they got into any more fights, they'd wind up in Saturday detention like those kids in that eighties movie his mom loved. _The Brunch Bunch? _He couldn't remember the name, but these teenagers had to spend their whole Saturday cooped up in detention. Forget _that_. He'd rather spend it shoveling poop at a farm or something.

Taking a deep breath, he said, "Whatever," and turned away. He took a bite of his sandwich and looked out over the field. He spotted Stella, Sid, and Liam kicking a soccer ball back and forth and laughing madly, like it was the funnest thing in the world. _Hehe, ball roll and bounce *gigglesnort* _

In case he didn't make it abundantly clear, Lincoln kind of hated sports. Some of it could be fun once you got into the thick of it, but watching sports? Ugh. Why? What was the point of watching someone else play a game? It'd be like if he got his jollies by sitting next to Johnny with his hands folded neatly in his lap while Johnny played _Call of Honor_. It didn't make much sense. Like, bro, pass me the controller.

He took another bite and washed it down with a sip of juice. A group of girls walked along the sidelines, and Lincoln squinted his eyes against the glare of the sun to see them better. "Hey," he said and nudged Johnny's arm with his elbow, "there's your girlfriend."

Johnny stiffened. "Where?" he asked, a hint of alarm creeping into his voice.

"Over there," Lincoln said and gestured.

The girls stopped fifty feet away as if to allow Johnny ample time to study them. "Oh," he said and blushed.

His "girlfriend" was Cristina, a cute little brunette a grade below them. She was ten - a full thirteen months younger than Lincoln - which made her basically a baby. For reasons known only to him, Johnny had a thing for her anyway. He asked her out one time while they all stood in line in the cafeteria. Unfortunately for him, he was sick at the time and coughed during his attempt to woo her. A wad of phlegm flew from his throat and landed on the front of her dress. She screamed bloody murder and everyone in the lunchroom turned to look at her. Johnny tried to pluck it off of her, but she went into hysteria mode and rushed off to the bathroom. Johnny was so humiliated that he later on, at home, he cried.

That was one of the rare times Lincoln hugged his brother for more than a quick celebratory pat on the back.

That didn't mean he didn't rank on Johnny about it. Like right now. "I hear she's dating Chandler these days."

Johnny's jaw clenched and he looked down at his lunch box. "Lucky him."

"Lucky her," Lincoln corrected. "His family's loaded. He can buy her all kinds of stuff you can't."

Cristina and her friends laughed over something one of them said. "It's poop money," Johnny grumbled to his sandwich.

Chandler's old man owned the sewage treatment facility in Elk Park, a massive factory building with a towering smoke stack and a vast parking lot that always seemed to be filled no matter the hour. He owned a bunch of other stuff too, like Flip's, Gus's, the local Burpin' Burger franchise...come to think of it, he owned basically all of Royal Woods and a good chunk of the surrounding towns. Lincoln didn't know how much bank Chandler had on hand, but the kid handed out twenties like they were candy and wore clothes that cost more than the mortgage on Mom and Dad's house, so it was probably safe to say "a lot".

"That poop money puts 300 dollar shoes on his feet," Lincoln pointed out. "He can get her all kinds of expensive gifts and stuff, what can _you _get her?"

Johnny prodded the inside of his bottom lip with his tongue and looked at Lincoln. His expression said _I'm gonna kill him if he keeps up. _"Alright, knock it off."

"I'm just -"

"Dude, I know I'm a broke joke. Okay? But you are too."

Ouch. Johnny had him there. They made a little extra on the side with their bike repair business, but the income wasn't steady _or _reliable. Their best customers, the Loud girls, had fallen on hard times and didn't bring their bikes by as often. Lynn, the biggest spender among them, got into a fight with her butt ball teammate Dora and got hit with a month long suspension. Her parents grounded her and the only time she was allowed to come outside was to walk to and from school. If she wasn't riding her bike, then, she wasn't wrecking it, and if she wasn't totalling her ride, she wasn't dragging its half-dead carcass to Lincoln and Johnny for help.

It was really feast or famine with that business, and right now, their house was Ethiopia.

Not literally, than God.

Lincoln shoved the rest of his sandwich into his mouth and chewed. He grabbed his apple slices but froze when a shadow fell over him. "Hey loser."

His blood ran cold.

He knew that voice.

Billy Mason, the school bully, loomed over him like a mighty oak, his chapped lips pulled back from his yellow teeth in a hateful sneer that Lincoln _thought _was supposed to be a smile. His big, brick-sized hands were balled into deadly fists and sunglasses shielded his eyes - he always wore them, and Lincoln was half sure he didn't even _have _eyes beneath them, just gaping sockets filled with hate.

A recent transfer to Royal County Elementary, Billy looked more like a linebacker than a sixth grader. His shoulders were so broad you needed two buses and a taxi to get from one side to the other and his neck looked like two packs of hotdogs frozen together. He wore a leather motorcycle jacket like a fifties greaser and denim cut off shorts that were dangerously close to hot pants territory. If any other kid dared to wear something like that, the entire school would come together to roast them out the door, but no one said a word to Billy. No one, no one, was brave enough; whenever he was around, they put their heads down and scuttled past, grateful that this time, it wasn't them he was picking on.

But there was always tomorrow. Billy held the whole school in an iron-clad grip of fear. No one was safe from his wrath, not even the old bullies Chandler and Poppa Wheelie. They both tried to cozy up to him and act as his squad, but he treated them the way Moe treated Curly and Larry - that is, he hit and picked on them even more. None of the teachers had the courage to stand up to him, not even Coach Meyers, and word on the street had it that _he _was man of the house, not his father.

Lincoln could believe it. He was built like a pro wrestler - and just as dumb too. He once got a two percent on a science test and spelled his name as BILEE. Being big and stupid really works up an appetite, apparently, because at lunch, he went around the cafeteria taking people's food away and eating it in front of them with obscene and mocking moans of pleasue. _This brownie is so good. My compliments to your mom. _Everyone handed their stuff over willingly. If they didn't, he'd pulverize them.

A long time ago, Dad showed Lincoln and Johnny this old school comedy called _Friday. _There was this dude in it named Deebo and in one scene, he hits some guy so hard he flies like ten feet in the air (Lincoln always imagined the WASTED screen from _Steal That Car _popping up when he hit the ground). Billy did that to the biggest kid on the football team when he refused to give up his Lunchable. Poor Sean (that was football kid's name) sailed through the cafeteria and crashed onto a table, which then collapsed under his weight like the announce table every week on _Raw is War_.

_THAT'S MY LUNCH, PUNK._

Presently, Billy leaned over and Lincoln cringed in fear. Next to him, Johnny quivered in fear. "Uh...h-hey, Billy, how's it going?"

Billy ignored him. "What'cha got there, Velazquest?"

"Just, uh, just some apple slices."

Like an eighty year old Democratic socialist, Billy thrust his hand out, palm up. "Give 'em here."

What could Lincoln do but comply? He handed over the apples with a sigh.

"Now the cookie."

Okay, that was going to be a problem. Lincoln liked apples and all but sweets were something else. His parents didn't have very much money and rarely bought sugary stuff. Every cookie, cupcake, scoop of ice cream, Ho-Ho, and Twinkie was an exotic treat he was seldom allowed to partake of.

Billy was glaring at him. "Uh...it's sugar free, I don't think you'll like it," Lincoln said. "It's crap, I mean, if you want it, you'll be doing a huge favor."

Reverse psychology was one of those simple but effective tactics that you wouldn't think worked but totally did.

But not this time. Billy wiggled his fingers. "Glad to help. Now give it here."

Crud.

"Are you sure? I'm telling you, it's pretty -"

Flashing, Billy grabbed him by the back of his jacket and dragged him off his butt. Lincoln's heart rocketed into his throat, and suddenly he was soaring through the air, five feet above the kids sitting on the lower tiers of the bleacher if he was an inch. The ground rushed up to meet him and he had just enough time to brace for impact before hitting the grass. A girl screamed in alarm and a gang of boys jumped to their feet and darted away like Old West townspeople at high noon. Billy made his way down the bleachers like Andre the Giant stepping over the top top, and Johnny gaped in horror.

Lincoln let out a pained moan and tried to get to his hands and knees, but Billy planted his foot between his shoulder blades and drove him to his stomach. "I said I wanted your cookie. Now fork it over."

"O-Okay, fine, you -"

Billy stumbled and screeched in surprise. Lincoln sat up and blinked: Johnny was on his back like a small, vicious mammal, his tiny fists battering Billy's head in a furious rain of hellfire and brimstone. Billy reached behind him, peeled Johnny off, and tossed him aside like a ball of paper.

Before Lincoln knew what he was doing, he was on his feet and charging his adversary. No one was allowed to hurt Johnny...except for him.

Lowering his head, he threw out one shoulder and speared Billy Goldberg-style. Billy staggered back with an _oof_, but didn't go down. He shoved Lincoln back just in time for Johnny to kick him in the knee. Billy yelped and sat hard on the bleachers. Johnny, lost in the release of months' worth of pent-up aggression at being bullied, slapped him hard across the chest with the back of his hand. "Woooo!" Johnny cried, unconsciously imitating RIc Flair.

Billy came alive and pushed Johnny away, then got to his feet. Lincoln jumped onto the bleachers, got behind him, and did a driving fist drop. Billy sank to one knee and Johnny wrapped his arm around his head in a DDT. He threw himself to the ground, and Billy's face planted in the dirt. Johnny jumped up, slapped his elbow, and dropped it onto the back of Billy's head.

The other kids had gathered around in a screaming mass, their chants and cheers urging Lincoln on. Is this what it felt like to be Hulk Hogan in 1985? He felt strong, he felt...he felt...powerful.

Backing up, he ran at Billy's crumpled form and hit him with an Atomic Leg Drop. He jumped up and high-fived Johnny like a wrestler tagging his partner in. The kids jumped, pumped their fists, and chanted, slurping up every second like it was candy-coated and filled with chocolate. Lincoln bent at the waist and strutted around like RIc Flair, stopping to swipe his hand over his hair. The girls swooned and the boys went crazy with envy.

Johnny climbed onto the bleachers, stuck out his thumbs, and curled his arms, tapping his shoulders with them three times. "Johnny. Velaz. Quest**." **He jumped , did a frog splash, and landed on Billy, who was stone cold out. Lincoln came over, threw one leg over Billy's back, and squatted down. He slipped one arm around Billy's neck and held him in a Steiner Recliner. Johnny ran around the front, knelt in front of Billy, and checked him for signs of submitting. He didn't, but Johnny called it anyway.

It wouldn't be the first screwjob in the history of wrestling.

Lincoln let go, and Johnny grabbed his hand, lifting it high above their heads in triumph. The crowd surged forward, mobbed them, and carried them on its shoulders. "We're popular!" Lincoln shouted to be heard over the din.

Johnny flexed his non-existent muscles. "And all we had to do was wrestle for it."

They looked at each other...then shamefully away.

That didn't matter, though. The heel had been vanquished and they were on top of the world. Literally.

But then Principal Bodner came out and things went from great…

...to not so great.

* * *

"I can't believe he gave us Saturday detention," Johnny fumed as they walked home later that day.

Lincoln sighed heavily. "Yeah, it sucks."

After their big match against Billy (FIGHT WITH, not match, ugh he was starting to sound like Dad now), Principal Bodner dressed them down and called them delinquents. When they went back to class, they passed a team of paramedics in the hall rushing Billy away on a stretcher. Lincoln felt kind of bad, but you can only push someone so far before they snap on you.

He stopped feeling bad pretty quickly, though. Everyone in school clapped, called out to them, and patted them on the back for a job well done. At the beginning of the day, Lincoln and Johnny were just there, unremarkable mid card talent no one liked or hated. Now, they were main event guys and everyone loved them.

Lincoln could get used to that.

At home, Mom finished what Principal Bodner started and grounded them. Lincoln studied his face in the mirror over the dresser and frowned. He picked up a black eye when Billy threw him and it looked pretty gross.

"On it," Johnny said. He dropped onto his bed, whipped out his phone, and danced his thumbs across the screen.

Lincoln sat on the edge of his bed and rolled his neck, it was kind of stiff.

Sergio, Johnny's pet parrot, fluttered through the open window and landed on the sill. A red parrot with a yellow beak, Sergio wore tiny sunglasses and a gold chain. "What up, party people?" he squawked.

One of Dad's passions outside of wrestling was old school hip hop. He had a thousand records in the attic ranging in intensity from The Sugar Hill Gang (least offensive) to Tupac (most offensive...probably). Sometimes, when wrestling wasn't on, Dad would go up into the attic and listen to them. Sergio went with him, and, long story short, he learned to talk like a rapper from the early nineties. It was annoying.

Lincoln's pet rat Cinnamon jumped onto the bed and Lincoln picked him up. The rodent's glowing green eyes and two tails were a result of getting into Lisa's chemicals one day. That was a long story, though.

"What happened to your eye, homeboy?" Sergio asked.

"We got into a fight," Johnny said. "We won."

Sergio flew over to Johnny's bed and landed on the headboard. He started nodding his head and shuffled from side to side. "Gonna put you on the racks like a pair of slacks with another wack rapper tied to your back," he sang.

"Yeah," Johnny said, "like that."

Something zipped through the window, all metal and spinning blades, and everyone started.

A drone.

"What up, dog?" Sergio greeted his brother in flight.

The drone dropped a package then took its leave. Johnny opened it and took out a spray can. Shiner-Be-Gone read the label. "C'mere, Linc."

Lincoln went over and allowed Johnny to spray his eye. The shiner instantly disappeared.

Just as they were finishing up, the door opened and Dad came inside. Lincoln's heart sank and Johnny went rigid. Uh-oh, they were in for it now. Dad was going to beat them with his belt or worse...make them watch old AWA wrestling videos.

Dad closed the door behind him and stared at them from behind a pair of sunglasses. Only then did Lincoln register what he was wearing: A loud pink blazer and pants, a black shirt underneath and a purple tie. He held a bullhorn in one hand instead of a belt and it took Lincoln a second to place who he was pretending to be today. Jimmy "The Mouth of the South" Hart, the wrestling manager from way back who dressed like Elton John on a particularly gaudy day.

"Lookin' fly, homie," Sergio complimented.

"Boys," he said, "I heard what happened at school today."

He came forward and Lincoln and Johnny braced themselves for punishment.

It didn't come.

"I'm proud of you. I've reversed your mother's decision and ungrounded you. We're going out for pizza and video games to celebrate."

Lincoln and Johnny looked at each other.

And grinned.

* * *

Beating up the bad guy and freeing the school from his evil grip made Lincoln and Johnny popular. Each morning they were received as heroes and everybody scrambled to give them anything their heart desired. Girls clustered around them, blushing and giggling at their greatness and boys sought them out to learn "how to be more like you guys." They were rock stars and their schoolmates were their adoring fans.

Johnny loved it. For the first time in his life he was _somebody_, and that's a heady feeling. He was no longer just Johnny from the block, he was famous, beloved, and, by golly, people liked him. Every day his swagger got a little more pronounced, and his head swelled just a touch bigger. He and Lincoln ran Royal County Elementary and they knew it. They could do and say whatever they wanted and the other kids would kiss their butts for the honor of hearing it.

Not every kid was agog at their awesome might. Some were poor, blind idiots who failed to realize they were in the presence of greatness. That bothered him and Lincoln both. Lincoln pointed out the fact that no one liked them before they became aggressive and assertive, and Johnny agreed. People love dominant personality types. No one votes for the limp rag running for president, they vote for the young, charismatic maverick who shoots from the hip or for the old billionaire who's too rich and old to care if he hurts your feelings.

_We gotta be like that, _Lincoln said, _or we're going to lose our top spots. _

That prospect terrified Johnny. He enjoyed his new fame and respect. The last thing he wanted to do was go back to being a glorified jobber on the bottom rung of the ladder.

_We have to establish dominance, _he said.

At lunch one day, Johnny spotted the perfect seat, right next to Cristina (who had become a lot more friendly and flirty since he and Lincoln beat up Billy). The only problem was, some boy was sitting in it. "Hey, punk, outta my seat," Johnny said.

"This is my seat," the boy whined.

Lincoln glared. "You heard the man, get out of his seat."

The kid sighed, got up, and started walking away. To really get their point across, Lincoln plucked his cookie off his tray. "This is mine now."

They sat next to Cristina and Johnny grinned at her. "Hey, girl, how about a date Friday night?"

Cristina grimaced. "I don't know. My parents don't want me to date anyone."

Was that a lie? Johnny felt like it was a lie and it probably was. She was practically dating Chandler before so yeah, she was lying. Well, he'd show her. "Oh, so you don't like black guys, huh?"

The color drained from her face and everyone around shot her dirty looks. "It's okay if you're a racist," Johnny shrugged.

"I'm not a racist, I swear!"

"So sad that a pretty girl such as yourself is filled with hate and bigotry."

"Wow, Cristina," a girl said from across the table, "you're literally worse than Hitler."

A panicky, doe-in-the-headlights look crept into Cristina's eyes. "Okay, I'll go out with you."

Ha. #Winning. "Great. You can pick me up at eight."

Later on, Johnny was going through his locker when Stella and Sid stalked up and crossed their arms, matching expressions of outrage on their faces. Jeez, someone always wanted his autograph or to tell him how great he was. It was cool but got majorly annoying. "Not now, ladies, I'm busy."

Stella jabbed her finger into his back and he spun, ready to throw down. "That was really messed up what you did to Cristina."

"Yeah," Sid said.

"What? Asking her out?" He laughed. "I'm the biggest hero this school's ever had, I beat Billy up and saved everyone's worthless butts. She should be honored to date me."

Sid and Stella both glared. "Accusing her of being a racist for not wanting to go out with you," Stella said.

"Yeah," Sid echoed.

Johnny blew a raspberry. "You're just jealous I didn't ask you out."

"You've been a real jerk lately," Stella charged.

"Yeah," Sid agreed.

"Lincoln too. You think you're so great but you're both turning into Billy."

"Yeah."

"Until you start acting right, we're not hanging out with you."

"Yeah," Sid said. "I mean, no. I mean...yeah!"

They spun and stormed off. "Who needs you?" Johnny yelled after them. He threw his arms out on either side to indicate the entire school. "Everyone's my friend."

Be that as it may, Johnny was still hurt by their accusations, and took his aggressions out on kids in his math class. He made fun of a nerd boy until he cried, then called Chandler a wuss and challenged him to a match (er, fight). Chandler wisely declined.

It was fun but it didn't get his mind off what Stella had said. Were he and Linc really bullying people?

Nah, Stella was just trippin'.

The next day, some kid scuffed Johnny's shoe in the hallway and didn't even say sorry. Johnny retaliated by shoving him into a locker and calling him a bunch of names. Lincoln made a third grader give him his cookie, then called his haircut "dumb." Every day, the power went more and more to their heads. In bed at night, Johnny mulled over Stella's accusation.

Maybe she was right.

Around this time, the other kids started acting funny. They no longer greeted Lincoln and Johnny as liberators, they cringed and shied away when they passed in the halls. There was a certain tension in the air, like static before an electrical storm, and people looked...well, they looked afraid.

It all came to a head two days later. Johnny was sitting on the bleachers next to Lincoln when some kid came up and sat down to their left. Lincoln spotted a Twinkie in his lunch box, got up, and stood over him. "Hey, loser."

"Hey," the kid mumbled.

"What'cha got there?"

"Twinkie."

"Give it here."

Those same words rang through Johnny's head in Billy Mason's voice, and that's when it hit him.

Lincoln seemed to realize it too: He frowned, shook his head, and came back, sitting down beside Johnny with a dazed look in his eyes. "We're bullies."

"I know," Johnny moaned.

"And fools."

"I know."

"We let this go to our heads."

"I know."

Lincoln held his face in his hands. "Let's stop."

"Way ahead of you."

That afternoon, they walked home in shame, neither able to look the other in the eye. They reached their driveway and started toward the house, but a high squeal stopped them. "You're hurting me."

Johnny looked up to see Billy Mason by the garage. He clutched Lola's wrist in his hand and growled at her. "Let go!" Lola cried. "I told you, I just came to get my bike fixed, I don't know where they are."

She kicked Billy in the shin, and he slapped her hard across the face, knocking her to the pavement.

Something happened when her sobs reached Johnny's ears.

He got mad.

Before he even knew he was going to react, he was running at Billy, Lincoln right behind him. Billy turned just as they smashed into him. Billy cried out and fell backwards, landing on the garage floor. Johnny attacked him with a frenzied flurry of punches and Lincoln kicked him in the side. Johnny's vision went gray and he seemed to watch himself as he battered Billy's already bloodied face. Billy pushed him off and got to his knees. Lincoln rushed over with a steel folding chair and slammed him in the head. Together, they picked him up in a double chokeslam and sent him through the workbench in an explosion of breaking wood, then kicked him senseless.

"Please stop," Billy moaned.

"You can't see me," Johnny shouted and waved his hand in front of his face.

Billy started to cry.

Sergio flew in and perched on a high shelf. He looked down at Billy. "You got knocked the freak out," he squawked.

In the driveway, Lola got to her feet and sniffled, her tears having tapered off. "You okay?" Johnny asked.

"I'm fine," she said, "who was that?"

"Billy the Bully.'

"We beat him up and he came back for revenge," Lincoln added.

"But the worst revenge was that he we turned into him," Johnny said.

He and Lincoln both shivered.

But they _weren't _him.

And they proved it by fixing Lola's bike for free.

Also by personally apologizing to every kid in school.

Needless to say, once Johnny admitted to being a jerk, Cristina canceled their date with a sigh of relief that hurt his feelings.

Maybe being a bully wasn't -

Nevermind.

Being a bully is awful.

Really, don't bully people.

THE END.


	7. Garbage Men

The struggle, they say, is real, and on this one topic, they were completely right. Lincoln and his brother Johnny were always looking for ways of making money. They ran a bike repair shop out of their garage, took Dad's metal detector out in search of lost change, and checked every vending machine coin tray they came across. Lincoln heard that there's a little strip on twenty dollar bills so that vending machines can read them. If you peel those off and put them on a one, you can put it in a coin machine and get nineteen bucks free. He tried on one of his Dad's twenties once but he didn't see a strip. It was probably a lie.

One way he and Johnny made extra was by doing odd jobs for the Loud family, mainly the girls. Occasionally, Rita or Lynn Sr. would give them a task out of pity and then pay them in dimes and pennies, but their daughters were always throwing them extra work. See, like Lincoln and Johnny, they had chores, and sometimes, they didn't want to do said chores, which is where Lincoln and Johnny came in. They offered to cover any chore the Loud girls could throw at them for two or three bucks a pop. It was actually a sweet gig since Lincoln had the idea to count every step of a single chore as a chore in of itself. Take laundry. Need it washed? Two bucks. Want it dried? Two bucks. Folded too? You know the drill. They did the same thing with raking leaves. Two to rake, two to put it all in the bag, two to carry it to the curb. Sometimes the Louds only paid for one or two steps, but most of the time, they said eh and paid them to do it all.

Lincoln and Johnny split their take evenly. It was never very much but it was something, and combined with their other revenue streams, they always had a little bit of spending money on hand for small purchases, like soda and snack cakes, both items their mother refused to buy. Those aren't good for you, she said loftily, have kale juice and carrots instead.

Ew. Lincoln would rather have some of Dad's WWE cereal. That stuff was awful. It tasted like straight up cardboard, but they sold it for 10.99 a box because it had a picture of Joey Styles on it. Lincoln hated looking at that guy's ugly mug during breakfast.

The Loud girls' least favorite chore, understably, was taking out the trash. Lincoln didn't like it either. See, each bedroom had two cans, the bathroom had one, the kitchen, and even the living room. There were thirteen people in that house and they produced a lot of garbage. The kitchen trash went out every night and the other cans once a week on Saturdays. Sometimes Lincoln and Johnny came over in the afternoon, grabbed the bag from the back porch (where whoever was on trash duty at the Loud house that night stuck it) and take it to the bin on the side of the house. Usually, though, they only handled Saturday's haul.

That arrangement worked for a while...then the girls started getting really stingy with money. They called Lincoln and Johnny over less frequently, and didn't assign them any chores with multiple steps. If they had Lincoln sweep, Lori mopped; if Johnny raked, Luan shoved the load into a bag.

On a sunny Saturday in May, Lincoln and Johnny got up bright and early to go across the street and help the Loud girls with their spring cleaning. Lori specifically said that Lincoln and Johnny were getting a flat fee of eight dollars and not a red cent more. Lincoln wasn't exactly thrilled with that, but beggars can't be choosers, and he and Johnny really needed the money.

In the kitchen, Mom brewed a pot of coffee and Dad sat at the head of the table in a leopard print Stetson, a glittery jacket with tassles, and nothing else...except for a pair of crusty whitie tighties. "Ooooh, yeah," he said to himself as he flipped to the sports section.

Lincoln rolled his eyes. Dad had been on a Randy Savage kick lately. It was, like, the fifteenth anniversary of his death or something and Dad got really weird around dates where his favorite wrestlers died. And there were a lot of those dates because pro wrestling is barbaric and kills its talent as surely as cigarette companies kill its customers. Lincoln was as sick of hearing about dead wrestlers as he was living ones, maybe even more, since any wrestler who died instantly earned Dad's unwavering love and respect. Like...he used to hate Jim Neidhart but the moment he heard the news that he'd died, he completely changed his tune. A great man...one of the greatest technical performers to ever live.

Dude, if you're going to seethe over someone for years, don't backtrack when they die. Lincoln would respect Dad more if he literally peed on the guy's grave.

"Good morning," Mom chirped, "are you hungry?"

"Can't," Johnny answered for both of them, "we gotta help the Louds with spring cleaning."

Mom bristled. "Oh," she said through her teeth, "that's nice. Maybe you can help around here sometime."

But Lincoln and Johnny were already gone.

Outside, the day was bright and mild with a warm, westerly breeze that smelled of honeysuckle and fresh cut crash. The whine of a lawnmower in the distance found Lincoln's ears and the laughter of children a few streets over scented the air. A man in shorts and a polo shirt washed his car a few houses down, and a group of girls skipped rope in front of Mr. Grouse's house. The old man himself stood in the front window glaring at them. His shoulders were tensed, his brow lowered; at the slightest sign of them even thinking about stepping onto his yard, he'd dive through the window in a shower of breaking glass and..well, Lincoln didn't know what Mr. G. would do once he got his hands on them. Probably hit them with a tombstone piledriver.

Shiver.

Since Lincoln and Johnny basically lived at the Loud house these days, they went in without knocking.

The first thing you notice about Casa Loud is the smell. With ten girls - many of them sweaty, reeking teenagers - you'd expect it to smell like a pig pen, but you'd be surprised. The spicy aroma of cinnamon pervaded the air and everything was neat and tidy to the point of obsession. Lincoln didn't understand it. Every time he was over here, he scoured the place for a mess but never found one. He was convinced that if he opened the right door or peered under the right bed, he'd find it, but nope, the entire house was completely sterile.

Leni and Lucy sat on the couch watching cartoons and Lynn boisterously kicked a hacky-sack up into the air. She saw them, shouted a "Think fast," and kicked it at them.

It hit Johnny in the face and he winced. "Ouch."

"Ten points for Loud," Lynn said happily.

Lucy glanced up, registered Johnny's presence, and gasped. Like a cartoon character being literally pulled along by a cloud of sweet smells, she got to her feet and drifted over. Johnny heaved a deep sigh and shot Lincoln a long suffering look. Lincoln grinned ear-to-ear. Fate is a cruel mistress and by sheer chance, girls whom Johnny had no interest in were always developing crushes on him, while the ones he liked rejected him time and again. Meanwhile, there was only one girl Lincoln liked, and here she was now, coming down the stairs with her older sister Lori. Luan Loud wasn't 'fashion-magazine' beautiful, but she was cute and her upbeat personality really did it for him. She was always happy and smiling, and for some reason he couldn't name, he liked that.

"Good, you're here," Lori said, "grab the trash, it's starting to stink."

Alright, Lincoln thought, here goes.

Here goes indeed, Lori was right, the trash was ripe. Okay, remember how he said the Loud house was always neat and free of a mess? He forgot to mention the trash. See, the Loud girls each had two cans in their room, one for every occupant of said room. For whatever godforsaken reason, they waited until their cans were overflowing before taking them out. Lincoln would say they did it because they knew he and Johnny were going to come behind them and clean up, but they were doing it before. And we're not talking about papers and empty cans here. We're talking food, female hygiene products, dirty diapers, basically the stinkiest stuff on the face of the earth.

Before he and Johnny got started, Lincoln fetched a 56 gallon barrel from outside and lugged it up the stairs. He hit Lola and Lana's room first because he knew it would be the hardest. Lana filled her can to the brim, then filled it a little more. When she was out of space, she filled Lola's. The can was wedged between Lana's bed and the nightstand, trash stacked two feet high. Once he got it into the barrel, he got on his stomach and swept beneath the bed with his arm, finding even more. Next, he did Lynn and Lucy's room. Lucy knelt in the middle of her bed and read from a big, leatherbound book.

"Uh...what are you doing?" Lincoln asked nervously. "Summoning Satan?"

"No," she deadpanned, "I'm casting a love spell on Johnny."

Lincoln flashed a terse smile. "Oh. Carry on then."

He grabbed hers and Lynn's trash. Something dropped out of Lynn's can as he emptied it into the barrell and he stared down at it for a moment before realizing what it was.

A jockstrap.

Lincoln jumped back with a cry of disgust and balled his fists to his chest like a little girl confronted with something icky. Gross!

Wait, do girls even need jockstraps? As far as Lincoln knew, jocks were meant to, ahem, protect your boys from injury during sportsball. Girls don't have boys so…

Unless…

Whatever. That wasn't his business. Needless to say, he wasn't touching that nasty thing. Lynn could deal with it herself.

He dragged the barrel into the hall and met up with Johnny at the head of the stairs. "You know," Johnny panted, "if we charged them by volume, we'd make a killing."

"That's an idea," Lincoln said.

Holding tight to the barrel, he started down the steps, pulling a little at a time to avoid falling. Behind him, Johnny did the same. Only being a big dumb oaf, he didn't do it right and something happened. He let out a sharp yelp and pitched forward. He crashed into Lincoln, and together they tumbled head over heels down the stairs. Their barrels overturned and spewed their contents onto them, the carpet, and the walls. The world spun and reeled, and Lincoln hit the bottom with a thud. His barrel landed on his back, bounced off, and rolled away. Johnny's hit one of the treads, went airborne, and crashed into the wall.

Before Lincoln could recover, Lori wailed. He woozily lifted his head, and she gaped at him like he just did the unthinkable. He looked behind him and realized he had. Garbage littered the floor, leading up the stairs like a trail of breadcrumbs. A plastic container of ketchup from a to go order had exploded and now soaked into the carpet, one of Lily's diapers came open and spilled its, uh, offerings.

It wasn't pretty.

Johnny sat dazedly up and rubbed his head.

"Look at this mess!" Lori cried. She peeled her lips back from her teeth and balled her hands into fists. "I'm literally going to turn you both into human garlic knots, hold the garlic."

Lincoln and Johnny screamed and held each other, but before Lori could make good on her threat, Lisa cleared her throat. Standing on the fifth to last step, she looked down at them like a lofty royal from her palace balcony. Yellow tinted goggles shielded her eyes and her customary skirt was replaced by heavy work pants. "Before you physically assault Lincoln and Johnny, you might wish to consider the following."

She stepped aside, and a terrible green mass with eyes and a mouth rounded the corner and surged down the stairs like sludge. Lori, Johnny, and Lincoln screeched in terror and scrambled out of the way, Lincoln shoving Johnny, Johnny pushing Lori, Lori crashing into the end table. A smug smile played at the corners of Lisa's mouth and she made no move to get out of the way as the thing approached.

Lincoln watched as it grew and swelled, an obscene slurping sound rising from its quivering form. In moments, it had finished whatever morbid task Lisa had asked of it and withdrew like a polluted tide. All of the other Loud girls had gathered around and gaped at what they had just seen.

"What was that thing?" Lori asked.

"A sentient, bioengineered macroorganism dedicated to the efficient and environmentally sound consumption of waste products," Lisa said proudly.

Everyone looked at each other.

Lisa sighed. "It eats trash. Look."

Everyone tentatively went to the bottom of the stairs, ready to bolt if the thing came back.

The garbage was gone. Even the stains. It was like Lincoln and Johnny's accident had never happened.

"Whoa," Lynn marveled.

"It's all gone," Lola said, puzzled.

Lisa smiled. "I call him Trashy. With him around, we will be freed from the burden of having to take out the trash."

Everyone cheered. Except for Lincoln and Johnny.

'Cause now, they were out of a job.

* * *

If he was honest with himself, Lincoln kind of hated Trashy's guts. True, taking out the Louds' trash wasn't the most profitable venture he and Johnny had ever undertaken, but it was something, and now, thanks to that green heap of goop, they were out in the cold. For three days, he and Johnny plotted ways to get rid of him. Neither could afford a hitman, so that was out. They could build a nail bomb and blow him to smithereens, but neither was brave enough to type HOW TO BUILD A BOMB into Google; this was 2020, the FBI takes that kind of thing seriously. They'd wind up on a terror watch list at best and in prison at worst.

On Tuesday, Lisa invited them over for a demonstration of her new "waste management system." She did it just to gloat: Lisa Loud's ego was legendary, and once she got tired of rubbing her family's faces in her accomplishments, she moved onto the neighbors, Lincoln and Johnny being her most consistent targets. Also, she liked Johnny and would make up any excuse to get him to come over that she could.

Following Saturday's miracle on the stairs, Lisa had Lana build Trashy a pen in the backyard, and that's where they found him. He had grown a little since Lincoln last saw him, and while they were there, he saw why: Every so often, one of the girls would open her bedroom window and throw a bag of trash at the pen. Trashy leapt excitedly into the air to catch it, then devoured it like a dog with treat. Okay, Lincoln was fair; Trashy was kind of cute. But he was still a job-stealing bozo. "Does he eat anything?" Johnny asked apprehensively.

"If you're asking whether or not he consumes living matter," Lisa said, "I assure you he does not. He eats only inorganic materials such as compost, foodstuffs, and lumber. Things of that nature.

"So he doesn't eat people?" Johnny asked.

Lisa favored him with a blank expression. "No. He does not eat people."

"That thing's actually pretty cool," Johnny said later. He reclined on his bed with his hands laced behind his head and his legs propped up in a rough M. Lincoln sat at their shared desk underneath the window and worked on a sketch of Luan Loud. She winked up and him and his heart fluttered. So beautiful.

Sergio sat in the open window and nodded his head to hip hop only he could hear. Cinnamon perched on Lincoln's shoulder and nibbled on a cracker he found somewhere.

Lincoln shrugged. "Eh, it's alright, I guess."

Across the street, Lynn's voice rang out. "Got another diaper for ya, Trashy."

"They're going overboard with it, though," Lincoln said.

He hadn't been back to the Loud house since Lisa's self-aggrandizing demonstration, but he was certain there wasn't a speck of trash in there. Every time something was thrown away, one of the girls grabbed it and rushed it to Trashy like they were feeding a favorite pet. He bet they made trash on purpose just to have an excuse. Hey, if they found tossing empty boxes and cans at a living mound of trash fun, more power to them.

On Wednesday afternoon, while Johnny was experimenting in the kitchen, Lynn came over and asked them to take over painting the back fence for her. She offered three bucks a piece. Not a kingly sum but three bucks is three bucks. When they got there, Lincoln was a little surprised to see that Trashy's pen was bigger...along with Trashy himself. Have you ever seen Star Wars? There's this bad guy in one of them named Jabba the Hutt. He's basically this big, fat slug. Trashy reminded him of that only bigger. He towered ten feet above his enclosure and rippled liked wind-swept jelly. Lisa walked around the parameter of his cage with a clipboard. "I'm putting you on a diet," she mumbled to herself.

Trashy rumbled.

"Look at him," Lincoln groused, "getting fat on our misfortune. Eating up our work and our money." He shook his head bitterly.

"Dude, relax," Johnny said, "you heard Lisa. She's putting him on a diet. That means we're still in the game."

After painting the fence, they went home for dinner. Dad was dressed in jeans and a wife-beater. Guess he's not dressing up like a wrestler today. Thank God for small favors. As soon as Dad was done, he got up and went into the living room to watch AEW Dynamite. Or rather, to switch back and forth between that and NXT. I haven't been able to do this since the Monday Night Wars, he said giddily one day.

Oh, you lucky dog.

Friday, Lincoln and Johnny met up with Stella and Sid after school. Stella needed her bike's front tire replaced and Sid wanted her Razor scooter painted. At fifteen dollars each, this was the biggest job they'd had in weeks, and Lincoln was stoked. When they got home, they went directly to the garage and got started. Sid sat on the workbench with her hands planted on either side of her and swung her legs back and forth and Stella poked nosily around. "Hey, what's this?" she asked and held something up.

Lincoln rolled his eyes. "One of Dad's old calendars."

Still wearing the shrink wrap it came in, it boasted a picture of Hulk Hogan tearing his shirt off, the year emblazoned above his head in white. 1990.

"He didn't even use it?" Stella asked, confused.

"Nope."

"So he's collecting it?"

Johnny snickered. "It's in a garage, full of dust, and covered in water damage. It's not collecting at that point, it's hoarding."

"You know how normal people clip a comic they like out of the newspaper and pin it to their fridge?" Lincoln asked. "He doesn't do that. He saves the whole paper."

Johnny nodded. "Umhm. He also tapes commercials he likes in case he wants to go back and watch them again twenty years later."

That made Lincoln laugh because it was true. "He literally said I've lost too many of my favorite ads to the sands of time. By golly, it won't happen again."

Stella and Sid exchanged a bemused glance.

"Oh, and -"

A loud rumble went through the earth, and the floor shifted like the deck of a boat at sail. Lincoln and Johnny trailed off, and everyone looked at the open garage door. "What was -?" Sid started, then screamed when Trashy, fifty feet tall and an eighth of a mile wide, squeezed through the gap between the Louds' house and Mr. Grouse's. The creature's yawning maw was open in silent roar and its eyes seethed with unnatural life. Its body bubbled and spat like a witch's deadly brew and its arms flailed madly around in mindless hysteria. Lisa, Luan, and Leni ran from him, screaming in terror, and Mr. Grouse, on his way to his mailbox, dove out of the way with surprising agility.

Lincoln's heart dropped into his stomach and the air left Johnny's lungs in a rush.

"Oh my God!" Stella cried.

"What is that thing?" Sid asked.

"Trashy," Lincoln said.

He and Johnny got to their feet and ran out of the garage just as Trashy started down the street, setting off car alarms and sucking up garbage cans as he went. Lisa, Leni, and Luan collapsed onto their hands and knees, panting for air, and Lincoln and Johnny hurried to their side, Sid and Stella close behind.

"What happened?" Johnny asked Lisa.

Lincoln knelt next to Luan and worriedly checked her for injuries.

She was unhurt.

"You okay?" he asked and helped her to her feet.

"Fine," she panted, "instead of me taking the trash out, the trash almost took me out."

She laughed and Lincoln's heart soared. This was exactly why he liked her. She almost literally died at the hands of a fifty foot monster and she still didn't lose her sense of humor.

"He's gotten too big," Lisa said and dusted herself off. "I tried to restrict his diet but he's ravenous. If my suppositions are correct - and I know intrinsically that they are - he's heading for the dump."

A shadow of uncertainty flickered across Johnny's face. "What happens when he reaches the dump?"

Lisa looked away. "He'll grow exponentially and move onto consuming other things. Such as buildings and, eventually, entire cities."

"What about people?" Johnny asked.

Lisa didn't reply.

"What about people?" he pressed.

"He won't seek them out specifically," she said, "but if they get in his way…"

Lincoln's stomach turned at the implications. "What do we do?"

"I've been working on a contingency plan for just such an emergency," she said.

Her "contingency plan" was a bazooka she dubbed The Detrashinator 3000 as 'an homage' to her fictional idol Dr. Doofenshmirtz. It was loaded with shells packing, among other things Lincoln couldn't understand, plastic eating microbes that would, according to Lisa, dissolve Trashy into nothing. "So...we're gonna kill him?" Sid asked.

"No," Lisa said, "we will simply be returning his matter to its original state. We must hurry, though. If he gets to the dump and consumes the refuse therein, we may never be able to stop him."

Sid, Stella, Luan, and Leni stayed behind at Lisa's insistence. "You'll be under our feet and cause the ultimate destruction of the human race through your ineptitude," Lisa said.

Lisa rode on the back of Johnny's bike (hugging him from behind and staring up at him with lovestruck eyes) and the bazooka rode on Lincoln's. Pedalling with fifty pounds of metal strapped to your back isn't easy, and unless he concentrated, he would start to wobble and veer off the track.

The Royal County Dump was north of town on US10, its rear fence backed up against a steep hillside dotted with pine trees. They followed a trail of trash the whole way. "He came through already," Lisa worried.

They got there just in time to see Trashy surging through the main gate. Lisa cried out for Johnny to go faster, and leaning over the handlebars, he pumped as hard as his legs would allow. Lincoln did likewise, and they reached the main gate two minutes later. Lincoln jumped off his bike and presented his back to Lisa. She unstrapped the bazooka and stumbled backwards, dropping it to the ground. The trigger depressed and blue fire leapt from the muzzle. The round struck a heap of scrap metal, and it instantly melted.

"Darn it," she said, "there goes one shell."

"How many are there?" Johnny asked.

"Now? One."

Oh. Just one.

"I can't aim it," Lisa said, "one of you will have to."

Lincoln and Johnny looked at each other. Neither wanted to make a mistake and be the reason life on earth came to an end. "You do it," Johnny said.

"Nah, I'm good, you do it."

"No, bro, I insist."

"Dude, I -"

"There's no time for this," Lisa said, "come on."

Johnny sighed, picked the bazooka up, and followed her into the heart of the dump. They found Trashy in a clearing where Steve, the owner, lived in an Airstream trailer. The man himself, tall with long black hair held back in a ponytail and three days' worth of stubble on his chin, stood before the monstrosity and waved a shotgun back and forth like David before the epic bulk of Goliath. "You feeling froggy? Leap!" he cried.

Trashy bobbed and weaved back and forth like a giant pugilist. "Shoot him!" Lisa yelled. "For the love of God, now!"

Johnny hefted the gun onto his shoulder and took aim. "He keeps moving!"

Letting out a hungry bellow, Trash surged at Steve. Steve jumped out of the way, and Trashy sucked up his trailer, truck, and patio furniture.

"NOW!" Lisa screamed.

Johnny took a deep breath and tried to calm his nerves. He had one shot and if he missed, Trashy would eat everything in the entire world.

Including Mom, Dad, and Lincoln.

That spurred him to action. He squeezed one eye closed, took a deep breath, and centered himself. He lined up the shot and, praying to God, he jerked the trigger.

The shell left the breech with a hollow thunk. It hurtled through the air, whistling as it went, and at the very last minute, Trashy turned. A flicker of intelligent understanding went through his eyes, then the round tore into his massive gut. Instantly, he began to sizzle and quake. He threw back his head and tried to scream, but he was already melting, his face lumpy, misshapen, like green candle wax.

In seconds, he was reduced to a little puddle of goo. Johnny lowered the bazooka and blinked his eyes. He'd seen some wild stuff in his day, but this took the cake.

He, Lincoln, and Lisa walked over and looked down. Lisa sighed heavily and Lincoln looked sad. Johnny took his paperbag off and held it to his chest. "Would someone like to explain what that was all about?" Steve asked as he stood next to Lincoln.

"Nothing," Lisa said, "just one girl's hubris getting the best of her and leading her to play God. Again."

Steve's brow furrowed.

"I got too big for my britches," Lisa said.

"Oh," he said and laughed, "for a second there I thought you was saying you was God."

As they walked through the main gate, Lisa said, "I can safely say that my days tinkering with bioengineering are over."

"You know what that means?" Johnny asked Lincoln.

"That we get to be garbage men again?" Lincoln asked hopefully.

Johnny winked and shot him a finger gun.

From that point forward, Lincoln and Johnny took the Loud family's trash out and were never replaced again.

THE END.


	8. Poetry Slammed

The Plague started in the Orient, which is the politically incorrect way of saying Asia. More specifically, China. Since China is run by a bunch of communists, its people are always starving to death and have to eat anything they can get their hands on. Someone made the grave mistake of eating a feral, rabid Kip Bat (of the Huic ostiarius genus) and got sick with the Pabstvirus. By some freak twist of nature, it mutated and began to spread from person to person. It swept through China, sickening thousands, then jumped to Japan. From there, it made its way to Europe, Australia, and North America.

A mild, flu-like bug, the Pabstvirus causes sneezing, coughing, and runny noses from one end of the globe to another. Old people and people with messed up immune systems were the hardest hit and some of them even died.

Press F for respects.

Everyone else - the young and healthy - freaking lost it and started to panic. Hysteria raged in the streets: Schools closed, toilet paper flew off the shelves, and Donald Trump vowed to build a wall of gauze around the US to keep the sickness out. Shortly thereafter, he took ill and blamed the Democrats. The Democrats, meanwhile, were busy trying to decide who they should run in the next election: The old white rich guy or the elderly caucasian millionaire. Decisions, decisions. The death toll reached into the tens and America largely grinded to a halt.

Royal County closed all schools on April 28. The official letter from the superintendent ended with the phrase God help us all. Sheesh. It's just a flu, relax.

Either way, Lincoln and Johnny were out of school, which, to Lincoln, was worth losing a couple boomers - okay, that sounded mean, no, it wasn't worth people dying, but still, free vacation. Mom, ever the house maid, turned into a clean freak constantly running around with her shirt pulled over her nose and spraying everything with Lysol, and Dad...poor Dad marked out hard. He built a little fort out of toilet paper in the living room and refused to come out until "the misery" had passed. Mom served him all of his meals in there and gave him hourly updates.

Someone a thousand miles away caught the Pabstvirus.

OH NO!

Three days after going into lockdown, Dad got lonely and Mom brought him a Hulk Hogan plush from the attic. Dad sat there all day long clutching it to his chest and talking about "The Hulkster will protect me."

Dad, that doll's been in the attic for twenty years. It probably has a lot worse than Pabstvirus in it.

But whatever, you can't talk sense to that man.

Anyway, with so much free time on their hands, Lincoln and Johnny spent a lot of it chilling with the Louds. They played flag football, had tea parties, and did all kinds of other stuff to occupy themselves and get their minds off the wannabe apocalypse engulfing the world around them. None of those activities could happen inside, though, since Mr. Loud was just as scared of dying as Dad was. Per Lori, he hid under the basement stairs with a dehumidifier and started panicking if anyone came into his domain. You're infected! Go away! Mrs. Loud was polite, but firm. Sorry, Lincoln and Johnny, but until this blows over, we're not accepting guests.

Well then.

Early one Friday evening, Lincoln and Johnny were sitting on the top step of the Louds' front porch with Lana and Lola when Lucy and a tall girl with black hair and freckles came up the walk. Lucy's friend was a few years older than her - maybe twelve or thirteen - and when Lincoln saw her, he recognized her; he didn't know from where, but he was certain he'd seen her somewhere. Or maybe he once saw someone on TV who looked like her. Who knew? Unlike Lucy, who dressed all in black, new girl wore denim shorts and a green and black plaid shirt over a black T with yellow writing across the chest. A backwards baseball cap topped her head and her face was pulled down in a sour glare that lent her the appearance of a woman who hated everything.

They stopped at the bottom of the step and just stood there like a couple htmen come to carry out a little wet work. "Hi, Johnny," Lucy finally said.

"Uh...hey," Johnny said guardedly. Like most of her sisters, she had a thing for Johnny and wouldn't leave him alone. Part of Lincoln pitied the poor guy, but another part envied him. No girls liked Lincoln. At least that he knew of. His love life basically started and ended with the vaguely suggestive T rated Ace Savvy fan fiction he read from time to time, the ones where all the girls were madly in love with Ace and he was too dumb, blind, and stupid to realize it.

Lol, those were top-tier literature.

Lucy clasped her hands in the small of her back and rocked on the balls of her heels like a coy little girl. Seeing her around Johnny always made Lincoln's head spin. The rest of the time she was doom and gloom, but the moment Johnny showed up, she was all blushy and giggly. It was weird and even kind of unnatural. "I was wondering if you wanted to come to the poetry reading at The Coffee House tonight."

The Coffee House was just what it sounded like, a coffeehouse where pretentious snobs in scarves and berets got together to be insufferable and obnoxious. Every Friday evening, it held a slam poetry night: Anyone with a piece of paper and a pencil could jot down their own masterpiece and take the stage.

A deer in the headlights look flickered across Johnny's face. "Uh...I-I really can't, my, uh…" he looked at Lincoln for help.

Maybe Lincoln wanted to see his brother squirm, or maybe he was salty because Johnny had a more active love life than him, but either way, he threw him under the bus so hard his grandkids felt it in the year 2089. "Nah, remember? That got canceled because of the Pabstvirus."

Oooh, if looks could kill, Lincoln would be dead on the ground. He clapped Johnny's shoulder and gave it a hearty shake. "You're all good, bro."

Johnny shrugged him off and took a deep breath through his nose. Lucy watched him from behind her bangs with silent intensity, and he chafed a little. "Okay, yeah, fine," he said, "I'll go. Why not? It's better than hanging out in the living room with Dad's TP fort blocking the TV."

"Poor Johnny," Lincoln said, "he can't watch MJF whipping Cody Rhodes with a belt on AEW anymore."

"Shut up," Johnny spat, "like realtalk, Cody is a beast. Those blows were legit."

A few backs back, MJF, AEW's top heel, gave Cody Rhodes, it's top babyface, ten lashes from a belt in the middle of the ring. Something about if Cody couldn't take the pain, he wouldn't be allowed to have a match with MJF. Lincoln wasn't paying attention but, yeah, those hits were real, there's no way you can fake something like that. His back was all messed up afterwards. Man, you gotta respect someone for enduring that kind of punishment, even if he was a pro wrestler.

He wasn't about to admit that out loud, though.

"Cody's a punk and so are you."

Johnny cocked his fist but didn't throw it. In the corner of Lincoln's eye, Lucyt's friend glowered at them. She nudged Lucy, and Lucy looked up at her, then at Lincoln. "You're coming too."

Wait, what?

Like heck he was! The Coffee Shop was the last place on earth he wanted to spend his Friday night. He'd rather watch SmackDown with Dad. He'd rather go antiquing with Mom. He'd rather get punked by Lynn on the football field. He'd rather get Pabstvirus and die in a pool of his own snot.

"Actually, uh…"

He searched his mind for a convincing excuse and snatched the first thing that came to mind. "I can't. SmackDown's on tonight." He flashed a tight smile and nodded. "Wouldn't wanna miss a bunch of grown men play fighting in an empty arena because of Pabstvirus."

"Dude, you don't even like SmackDown," Johnny said.

Lincoln shot him daggers. "Shut up," he hissed through his teeth.

An idea took shape in Johnny's eyes, and he grinned. At that moment, Lincoln knew his brother was about to get revenge on him. "Dad has WWE On Demand. You can watch it tomorrow." He clapped Lincoln's shoulder. "You're all good, bro."

Lincoln sighed.

"Great," Lucy said, "we'll see you guys there at seven."

Without further ado, she and her friend turned and walked away. Lincoln watched them until they were gone, then hung his head. "This is gonna suck."

"Yeah," Johnny said, "it is, but you got us into this mess."

"Me?"

"Yeah, you," Johnny said, "you could have had my back but instead, you stabbed it. So I stabbed yours."

Lincoln shot out his hand and hit Johnny's shoulder with the heel of his palm. Johnny swatted him, and before you could say "hardcore grudge match" they were rolling back and forth on the front lawn in a confusion of limbs, slaps, grunts, and insults. Lana and Lola crowded around and pumped their fists, both cheering for Johnny because of course they were. "Go, Johnny!" Lola cried.

"Kick his butt!" Lana shouted.

Lincoln gained the upper hand and straddled his brother's back. He shoved Johnny's face into the grass and wrenched his right arm up between his shoulder blades. Johnny let out a strangled cry. "Tap out," Lincoln hissed.

"No!"

Summoning all his strength, he heaved Lincoln off and scrambled to his knees. Lincoln followed suit, and still kneeling, they locked up. Lincoln got his arm around Johnny's head and got to his feet. Grabbing the waistband of Johnny's pants, he went to give him a suplex he'd never forget, but without warning, someone grabbed his ear from behind and yanked him away. His arm released and Johnny collapsed to his hands and knees. Lincoln's attacker spun him around and snatched him up by his hair, forcing his head to one side.

"Lincy, what are you doing?" Leni demanded. Her eyes were narrowed sternly and her lips pursed in an expression of disapproval that looked so much like his mother's that Lincoln could almost for a second imagine Leni was his long lost sister.

"Nothing," Lincoln said, "I -"

Leni twisted his ear and he yelped in pain. "I don't like violence, Lincy," she said, "and I don't ever want to see you doing that to your brother, like, ever again, okay?"

"Okay! Okay!"

Leni searched his eyes for traces of deceit...then broke out in a sunny grin. "Okie dokie." She let him go, gave his head a patronizing pat, and minced away with her hands up and bent in front of her. Lincoln watched her go just in case she decided to come back and give him a DDT, then turned to Johnny, who sat up on the ground rubbing his forehead with the heel of his palm. Lola and Lana knelt worriedly beside him, Lola patting his shoulder.

"You hurt Johnny," Lana charged.

"Johnny had it coming," Lincoln said.

He held out his hand and helped his brother to his feet. "Bro," Johnny said and squinted. "Your ear's bright red. Leni did a number on you."

"She's stronger than she looks," Lincoln said. He hung his head. "What time did Lucy say we have to be there?"

Johnny threw his head back in thought. "Uhhhh...seven."

It was three. That gave them four hours. Normally, that seemed like a really long time, but right now, Lincoln could feel the minutes rapidly ticking away.

This was gonna suck.

At home, Johnny plopped down in front of the ancient Dell in his and Lincoln's bedroom while Lincoln hit the shower. Done, he stood in front of the mirror, wiped the fog from the glass with his hand, and studied his reflection. He wasn't full of himself or anything, but he thought he was alright looking. He was also smart, witty, and nice. Why didn't any girls like him? Was it the white hair? The busted teeth? The perfectly circular shape of his face?

It had to be something. Johnny had all kinds of admirers and he had nothing. Hmmm.

Of course, it wasn't fair to compare himself to Johnny. The only girls who liked him were the youngest Louds and Johnny didn't even like them back.

Still, why did they like Johnny over him? What did Johnny have that he didn't? They were both strong, independent black men (even if Lincoln didn't look like a black man). Take away the skin color and hairstyle, and they were basically the same person only in different flavors, Johnny chocolate and he vanilla.

He drew a deep sigh and frowned at himself. Maybe love just wasn't in the cards for him. Johnny would marry Lily, Lisa, Lana, Lola, Lucy, and Lynn like Ace in one of those harem fics he read, and he'd take over living in Dad's toilet paper fort with only a Hulk Hogan doll to keep him company.

It's just you and me now, brother.

To get even that far in life, though, he needed to get through tonight.

UGH.

He'd seen the types of people who came and went from The Coffee Shop. They wore Buddy Holly glasses, plaid, skinny jeans, and beanies. They drank craft beer, listened to Wheezer on vinyl, and drove Priuses covered in Bernie 2020 and COEXIST bumper stickers. The women had blue hair and looked like men and the men had long eyelashes and looked like women. Gross. He'd take a bunch of juiced up muscle heads at a RAW taping anyday.

Grabbing his toothbrush, he brushed his teeth, flossed, and applied deodorant to his armpits. Next, he pulled on his underwear, followed by his jeans. He forgot to grab a shirt.

With one last look in the mirror to make sure he was presentable, he snapped the light out and returned bare chested to his room. Johnny slouched in the chair and laughed at cat videos on YouTube, and Sergio the parrot sat on the window sill, face pressed to the glass. Apparently he had a dust up with a pigeon the other day and he was worried he'd "come back with his crew and jack me up, yo." Lincoln crossed to the dresser he shared with Johnny, opened the drawer, and blinked.

He was out of shirts.

Darn it.

"I guess Mom didn't do laundry yet."

On the computer screen, a fluffy kitten reared up on its hindlegs and then fell over. Johnny slapped the table and howled. "You got a shirt I can borrow?"

"I dunno. Maybe. Check."

Lincoln pulled Johnny's drawer open. It, too, was empty, save for one neatly folded black T-shirt shoved into one of the corners like a bad memory. He leaned in, pulled it out, and held it up.

He instantly saw why it was forgotten in the corner.

NWO was splayed across the front in white text meant to resemble graffiti.

"Dude," Lincoln said, "is this the only shirt you have?"

Johnny glanced at him. "Yeah, wh - ooooh. Sorry, bro, it's either that or nothing."

"Seriously?" Lincoln asked. He threw up one hand in exasperation. "I can't wear this, I'll look like a dork."

Johnny opened his mouth, and Lincoln jabbed a warning finger at him, already knowing what he was going to say. "Then don't wear it," Johnny shrugged. "Show the world that pigeon chest of yours."

Across the room, Sergio squaked. "Pigeon?" he asked nervously. "Where? Don't let him stick me, please, keep him away." He started to hyperventilate, his little chest heaving.

"Dude, chill," Johnny said, "there's no pigeon." He turned back to Lincoln. "I can't help you, man. That's the only clean shirt I have."

Lincoln blew a frustrated puff of air. If he wore this dumb shirt, people would think he liked wrestling. He might as well put a football helmet on and wear a sign around his neck that said I'M MENTALLY CHALLENGED. On the other hand, he couldn't leave the house with nothing.

"Fine," he said sullenly, "guess I'm wearing it."

Sigh.

* * *

Hours later, as the light filtered from the sky and the sun sank behind the rooftops in the west, Lincoln and Johnny arrived at The Coffee House, a stylish building on Main Street with a brick facade, angled wrought iron lamps above the door, and a patio where hipsters sipped soy frappe lattes and talked about how great Mumford and Sons is. Today, most of them were wearing surgical masks. One even had a pair of latex gloves on her hands. A hand lettered sign taped in the front window advised customers to refrain from coughing and sneezing on each other to "limit the spread of PAVID-20." Another sign promised that anyone who voted for Bernie against "the orange fascist" in November would receive a free small frappe and "the endless gratitude of all civilized people."

Alright, I'mma head out.

But not really.

Inside, low lighting and hardwood floors provided a rustic and comfortable ambience. Small tables faced a stage and the low din of talking drifted to Lincoln's ears. He and Johnny looked around, both starting when Lucy appeared seemingly out of nowhere. "Hey."

"Hey," Johnny said, "uh...we're here."

"Great," Lucy said, "I could use some help backstage." She looked at Lincoln. "Go sit with Maggie."

Maggie? Who was that?

Sensing his confusion, Lucy pointed at a table by the wall. Her dour-faced friend stared at them with a bitter expression. Aw, man, really? He had to sit with her?

He started to protest, but Lucy grabbed Johnny's hand and dragged him away, leaving him alone. He took a deep breath and considered his options: Leave, go home, and watch SmackDown with Dad or go sit with some girl he didn't even know who looked like she'd sooner hit him with a caustic insult than say hey.

Decisions, decisions.

He almost went with the former, but instead, he hung his head and crossed to Maggie's table, where he dropped into the chair across from her. A flush of embarrassment spread across the back of his neck and he scratched his head. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," Maggie replied. Her voice was as flat and listless as Lucy's and when Lincoln looked up at her, her dark eyes were pointed to his right, as though she were looking at something in the direction of the bathrooms.

Awkward silence descended between them and Lincoln scratched his head again. "You do poetry too?" he asked for something to say.

"No," she replied, "I draw."

"Hey, me too," Lincoln said, "what do you draw? Skulls and stuff?"

Maggie favored him with a blank expression. "No. I draw other stuff."

Unless Lincoln was mistaken, there was a slight hesitation between no and I, as though she were embarrassed by what she drew.

Now Lincoln was genuinely curious. "What kind of stuff?"

Maggie considered a moment, then lifted and lowered one shoulder. "People. Animals. Flowers. All kinds of things. What about you?"

"Same, I guess," Lincoln said. "I've been doing landscapes a lot lately."

"Those are fun," she said.

"Yeah, lots."

The conversation flatlined and Lincoln wracked his brain for a way to jumpstart it. He glanced at the stage and willed something to happen so he didn't have to, but the mic stood in the spotlight alone like a naked tree in a blasted field. All around, hipsters, posers, emos, and goths chatted with their friends. Lincoln spotted one in a WWI style gas mask - with people like these, it was hard to tell if it was a safety precaution or a fashion statement. On the other side of the table, Maggie shifted in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. She flicked her eyes up and down, appraising him, and he suddenly felt uncomfortable. "What's NWO mean?"

NWO? Oh, God, how did she know what that was?

"Your shirt," Maggie said and jutted her chin at his chest.

He looked down and, oh, right, lol. He totally forgot. "It's pro wrestling stable," he said. "It was formed on July 7, 1996 at WCW's Bash at the Beach pay-per-view and originally dissolved when WCW folded in 2001."

Maggie nodded. "Ah," she said. "What's it stand for?"

"New World Order," he answered. "The NWO was supposed to be the new world order of professional wrestling but they were really a bunch of rich white guys pretending to be in a gang. They had hand signs and everything."

"So they were gangsters?"

"Pretty much. They cheated, beat people up, spray painted their logo on their fallen opponents, and acted like real A-holes to pretty much everyone."

Backstage, Johnny leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Lucy talked to a group of girls and some hipster kid in a Nirvana band T kept shooting funny looks at the paper bag on top of Johnny's head. Like what do you want me to wear, buddy? They banned all the plastic ones.

Lucy said she needed help but in the ten minutes he'd been back here, the only thing he helped do was keep the wall from tipping over. That was a joke because he was leaning against - nevermind. He was starting to get bored and the looks Lucy and her friends kept giving him was starting to creep him out. You know what the most awkward thing in the world is? Having a friend who's into you when you're not into them back. Like...how do you deal with that? Cut them out so you're not, like, stringing them along? Pretend you don't notice? He liked Lucy and her sisters and he didn't want to hurt their feelings, but...sheesh, leave me alone, I'm clearly not interested.

A prissy man in cat-eye glasses and a glittery shirt open at the throat flitted past, then disappeared through the curtain. Johnny picked at his nails and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. C'mon, c'mon.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the first poet of the night - Lucy's friend Haiku - went out on stage. Lucy's group broke up, and she came over to stand next to him. She clasped her hands behind her back and drew a heavy sigh. "You nervous?" Johnny asked.

To his surprise, Lucy nodded. "Yes," she said. "Very nervous."

See, Lucy was...how to put it...dull. Not in a boring kind of way, just...flat, expressionless, the kind of person you could never read. Maybe she was dying inside, or maybe she was bursting with joy. There was just no telling.

The thought of her feeling a human emotion like nervousness, therefore, seemed strange.

"Well...you're a good poet, so.." he said, wanting to comfort her but not knowing exactly how. That was Lincoln's arena.

"I know," she said, "but tonight I;m doing something...different."

A red blush touched her cheeks.

In the dining room, Lincoln crossed his arms and shook his head. "So he comes out in a football helmet, right? Steady talking smack, then Golberg spears him through the cage and he gets a concussion."

Maggie cracked a smile and nodded to herself. "He sounds like a real dirtbag."

"Oh, he is," Lincoln assured her. "He took WCW and slammed into the ground in nine months. He also got TNA kicked off of Spike and filed a restraining order against Jim Cornette for trash talking him."

He took a sip of his Coke and Maggie did likewise. "I kind of like basketball," she admitted. "Like..,playing it, not watching it. Watching sports is lame."

"Right?" Lincoln agreed. "I wanna get involved, not just sit there."

"Exactly," Maggie said. "What fun is that? Maybe if you go to a game or something and it's, like, an event, but sitting at home on your couch? Dumb."

"Take my Dad. He stays watching WWE On Demand. He cheers and jumps around like an idiot for thirty year old matches he's seen fifty times before."

Maggie nodded. "My Dad's like that with baseball. When I was a kid, he had me on this pee wee T-ball team, and he'd get really worked up. He had a foam finger and everything. One time he got thrown out for threatening to cram a baseball bat down a player's throat. She was five."

That shocked a laugh from Lincoln. "My Dad wants me and Johnny to wrestle in high school. We tried to tell him it's not that kind of wrestling but he doesn't wanna listen. He keeps saying he can't wait for my first steel cage match."

Maggie chuckled. "I won't lie, a steel cage match actually sounds pretty cool."

Someone coughed loudly at a nearby tabe, and Lincoln and Maggie both tensed. Everyone stopped talking and looked at the cougher as though he'd just said he was a Republican. "It's okay," he assured the jittery crowd, "I vape."

"This virus stuff is getting on my nerves," Maggie said.

"My Dad's been holed up in a fort made of toilet paper for days," Lincoln said.

"My parents don't think it's a big deal," Maggie said. "I mean, I don't either but, you know, it is kind of scary."

"A little," Lincoln allowed, "but it'll be fine."

"You sound sure."

Lincoln shrugged. "Because I am. This isn't the first time a big, scary disease has sent everyone into a panic. And guess what: Nothing ever came of them. Yeah, people got sick and died, but it wasn't the end of the world or anything."

"I hope," Maggie said.

Backstage, Lucy pushed away from the wall and took a deep breath. It was her turn now. "I'll come to the curtain with you," Johnny said. "I'll be right there."

She sighed. "Thank you."

They went to the curtain, and after a slight hesitation, Lucy went through. Johnny stuck his head out and watched her approach the mic. She stopped, slipped a piece of paper from her pocket, and unfolded it. "This is a new poem I wrote the other day," she said, "it's called My Heart."

She cleared her throat and began to speak.

"My heart, when I look at you

Beats happy, light, and new

My heart, when I'm with you

Beats steady, loyal, and true

My heart, when I think your name

Swells with joy and love, aflame."

Johnny's solicitous smile fell by degrees until his lips were arrow straight.

She was talking about him...wasn't she?

"I cherish our time together, and long for more.

You are my precious, the one I adore."

She turned to look at him and her mouth creaked up in a tiny smile. Johnny flashed a tight grimace and nodded. Good job, Luce.

"You are the apple of my eye and I hope we can be

Together one day, you, our children, and me."

Johnny pulled his head back and let the curtain fall closed. 'Ight, I'mma head out. He spun on his heels, snapped his fingers sassily, and made his way toward the dining room. Lucy caught up with him at the door. "Where are we going?"

He started to snap (I'm getting away from your yandere butt, idk where you goin'), but took a deep breath instead. "I'm gonna grab Linc and head out. We're missing SmackDown."

"I thought you didn't like SmackDown."

"You don't know me very well, 'cause I love SmackDown. Best show on Fox after Sean Hannity."

Lucy sighed. Johnny didn't know how one little sound could convey so much sadness and desolation, but it did, and he missed a beat. Her crush was a little much...and weirded him out...but he couldn't be a jerk. "Alright," he said, "I'll stay. Let's go sit with Linc."

"Actually," Lucy said, "we should leave him and Maggie alone."

Johnny furrowed his brow. "Why?"

In the dining room, Maggie pulled her chair next to Lincoln, crossed her legs, and pulled out her phone. "Here's one I did last week," she said. Her tone had thawed and her face was more animated than before; her eyes sparkled in the low lighting and her lips pulled up in a sly half-smile that Lincoln couldn't help admiring. She accessed her photos and showed him a picture. It showed an elaborate drawing of a rose. It was so detailed and lifelike that Lincoln's jaw dropped. "Whoa, you did that?"

She nodded proudly. "Yep. It took me two hours."

"Two hours?" Lincoln marveled. "It'd take me a week and I still wouldn't do as good a job."

Maggie's smile widened and she ducked her head to hide it. "I've been drawing a long time. I'm as into it as you are wrestling."

Wait, what? "I hate wrestling, though."

"Really? You've been talking about it all night."

He opened his mouth, then snapped it closed again. He had, hadn't he? Oh, God, was he...was he a wrestling fan? GAG.

Maggie noticed his distress. "It's all cool," she said, "you're kind of -" she caught herself before she finished.

"What?" Lincoln asked.

She shook her head. "Nothing."

"What?" he pressed.

A light flush crept across her cheeks and she darted her eyes to her lap. "You're just...you're kind of cute when you're talking about it. Like...excited and stuff."

Lincoln's first instinct was to take her comment about him being cute as patronizing, but then he realized she was blushing furiously and it occurred to him that maybe, just maybe, she meant it in another way.

His heart dropped into his stomach. "Uh...thanks. You're cute too."

He had to say that (if someone compliments you, you're required by law to you too them), but it was true. With her liquid dark eyes, smattering of freckles, and secret smile, she was cute.

Now he was blushing too.

"Thanks," she said. She smiled happily down at her lap, and when she realized Lincoln was staring at her, she swallowed it and did her best to resume looking apathetic.

She failed.

"I mean...yeah, you're pretty cool and...it's okay if you're a wresting geek. You like what you like."

While that was true, Lincoln was not a wrestling fan. "I really don't like wrestling. I just wore this shirt because it was the only -"

Maggie cut him off. "Dude, you were spitting dates and career stats at me. Just admit it. You like fake fighting." A playful inflection crept into her voice.

"I swear, I don't," Lincoln said. He didn't know why, but he was smiling too. "Wrestling sucks."

"Your lips say no," Maggie said, "but your eyes say NWO 4 LIFE."

They both laughed so hard they cried.

At the end of the evening, they walked side by side behind Lucy and Johnny. Streetlamps lit the way and early fireflies danced in quiet front yards like swirls of radioactive snow. A strange, hollow feeling opened up in Lincoln's stomach and the urge to take Maggie's hand and twin their fingers together stole over him. He didn't do it, though. Not because he was chicken but because, you know, she might have the Pabstvirus or something.

Yeah, let's go with that.

At his house, she scratched the back of her neck. "It was cool hanging out with you," she said.

"Yeah," Lincoln said honestly, "we should do it again sometime."

Maggie smiled. "Yeah, we should."

They exchanged numbers, and Lincoln watched her walk into the night. When she was gone, he felt the way he imagined a fish did after a fisherman scooped out its guts. Cold. Empty. Not whole.

He sighed, and Johnny clapped him on the back, making him jump. "Have a nice night?" he asked knowingly.

"It was alright," he said casually.

"You and Maggie seem...close."

Lincoln shrugged. You never let a bully know they're getting to you and you never let your brother know you like a girl for the same reason: They'll never leave you alone. "She hates wrestling too."

"I know one thing she likes," Johnny teased.

And here we go.

"You. She likes you, bro. She practically begged Lucy to bring you along tonight. She's been looking through our bedroom window at how fly you are."

Lincoln rolled his eyes. "Wait, she did? The Lucy part?"

"Yep," Johnny said, "she saw you at school and thought darn, he fine."

Lincoln couldn't contain his smile if he wanted to.

He'd never felt such a strange and caustic mixture of loss and happiness - happiness because a cute girl liked him and loss because she wasn't here.

As soon as he went inside, he texted her, and every time she texted back, his heart bounced giddily into his throat.

Johnny sat on his bed and flipped through a comic, his attention more on his brother than on the story before him. "At least he has a girl he likes into him. I'm happy for the little runt."

He glanced at Sergio, who craned his neck to see out the window. He jumped and squawked. "Yo, I think that's a pigeon."

Johnny shook his head fondly.

Now...to find a girl for himself.

"Bro, really, that looks like a pigeon," Sergio worried.

As it so happened, it was, and when they woke up the next morning, the lawn was covered in white poop.

THE END.


	9. No Guts, No Glori

Once upon a time, there was a radical and tubular dude named Lincoln Velazquest who loved to play video games. As soon as he got home from school, he threw his backpack off, raced up the stairs, and dropped in front of the TV in his and his brother Johnny's room. There he would stay for hours, playing everything from Call of Honor to Fluffy Animal Town. He considered himself an urbane and widely-played chap whose diversity of taste was second to none. He played everything because video games were life.

Then something changed and it wasn't hard to define.

He got himself a girl and he didn't have the time.

Or the inclination, for that matter. After he met Maggie, video games took a back seat. Like..so back they were practically in the trunk. Every free moment he had went to her: They hung out at the park, stopped in at Gus's Grubs and Games, sat on the curb outside Flip's and slurped Flipeez's until their brains ached, and talked and texted constantly. Giving up gaming wasn't a sacrifice or even a conscious decision, he just did it naturally. Like, hello, you got games on this side and a cute girl who likes you on the other. Which one would you choose?

He was perfectly happy with this arrangement, then something changed and it wasn't -

Eh, forget it. Maggie and her family took a week long road trip to visit her grandparents.

The Pabstvirus was still raging and Gen Zers who packed the beaches for spring break against all logic and common sense were blaming Trump for them getting sick. Biden gave a puzzling speech where he promised to "end the Pabstvirus cure" and school was out for the rest of the year. Why Maggie's parents decided now was the time to drop by and see her frail, seventy-some year old meemaw and pawpaw from beyond Lincoln. What idiots, right?

Okay, that was mean, he was just upset that he wouldn't get to see Maggie for seven whole days.

And just when he was about to man up and hold her hand for the first time.

Sigh.

She, her parents, and her little sister left on a Sunday, and Lincoln walked home with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket and his head hung. He was halfway home when something occurred to him.

He could play video games now.

Sweet.

At home, he dropped onto the edge of his bed and reached out to turn the TV on, but stopped.

His and Johnny's X-Station was gone.

"Dude," Lincoln said and turned to his brother, who sat on his bed reading a book. How To Win Over Goff Gurls, read the title. "Where's the game?"

Johnny flipped a page but didn't look up. "You didn't know? Dad has it."

Ugh, of course he did. Dad had been cowering in a toilet paper fort since the pandemic started and only came out to pee, stretch his legs, and make sure Lincoln and Johnny were saying their prayers and taking their vitamins. Spending so much time in there, he got bored. He'd already watched literally every single video on the WWE Network and listened to all of his favorite old school rap songs until he was sick of them. It only made sense that he'd eventually swipe their game system; maybe dads twenty years ago weren't down with the X-Station, but this was 2020, the dads of today were playing the original Steal that Car and Call of Honor religiously.

"What's he playing?" Lincoln asked.

"Steal That Car: Bahrain."

Lincoln rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, you wanna know the best part? He modded it so that instead of Achmed, your character is The Big Boss Man."

Lincoln blinked. "Which one?"

"...the wrestler."

"No, I mean which version? Is he dressed in that blue police shirt with the rebel flag on it or the tactical SWAT gear?"

Johnny sat his book in his lap and looked at Lincoln like he was crazy. "I dunno, what does it matter?"

Lincoln shrugged. "The SWAT's kind of cool. And that angle where he fed Al Snow his dog and then beat him up with that billy club...c'mon, you gotta admit…"

Leaning over, Johnny slapped him across the face. "Dude, you just a wrestler was cool."

Oh, God, he did, didn't he? He started to hyperventilate.

Again, Johnny hit him.

"It hurts so bad but I deserve it," Lincoln moaned.

"Don't go soft on me, bro," Johnny said.

"I'm sorry," Lincoln said, "I-I don't know what came over me." He shook his head as if by doing so he could set his brain right. "I just wanna play a video game, that's all."

Johnny searched his eyes for traces of deception, then relaxed. "I dunno what to tell you. I've been trying for three days to get him to come off it. He's so into it that he threw his Hulk Hogan doll at me the last time I tried."

Oh. Wow. This was serious. That Hogan doll had become Dad's best friend in quarantine. If he was chonking it at people all willy-nilly…

"We're not getting it back anytime soon, are we?" he asked.

Johnny shook his head. "Probably not."

SIGH. Lincoln slumped his shoulders and threw his head back in mourning. "I wanna play video games."

An idea struck him. "I know."

"What?" Johnny asked.

Lincoln got to his feet, went to the window, and knelt down. Outside, Sergio the parrot sunned himself in the tallest branch of an oak tree, his beak covered by a little white surgical mask. Cinnamon, Lincoln's pet rat, perched on the window sill and nibbled at a piece of cracker he found on the floor. On the other side of the street, screened behind the trees, 1216 Franklin Avenue played peekaboo through the foliage. Johnny swung his legs over the side of the bed, shifted to his feet, and came over. "What?" he asked and got down to one knee. He followed Lincoln's line of sight.

"Dude, no."

"Dude, yes," Lincoln said. "They have video games out the wazoo over there."

"They also have, like, twenty people in that house."

Lincoln blinked in confusion. "So? That's never stopped us from going over there before."

Cinnamon shoved the rest of the cracker into his mouth and jumped onto Lincoln's shoulder, where he sat up on his hindlegs and stared Johnny down, as if defying him to cook up a reason they couldn't play video games at the Loud house. Johnny rolled his eyes and shook his head exasperatedly. "Dude...social distancing?"

Oh. Right. The government was telling everyone to keep 6.1 feet away from each other. Lincoln didn't know why they chose 6.1 instead of just going with 6, but they probably had a reason. The government never does anything dumb or unncessary.

That presented a problem, but then again, not really. Only three people had gotten the Pabstvirus in Royal Woods, and two of them were dead, so they should be all good. "We'll be fine," he said and rubbed Cinnamon between the ears with his index finger. "If they look sick, we'll dip out."

Party pooper Johnny opened his mouth to spew rain on Lincoln's parade, but Lincoln didn't give him the chance: He got up and hurried away, Cinnamon jumping into his jacket's breast pocket. Johnny called after him but Lincoln ignored him. He was a man on a mission and nothing was going to stop him.

Then something stopped him.

Specifically, Mom yelling from the kitchen that dinner was ready.

His stomach rumbled.

Okay. He'd go after eating.

He, Mom, and Johnny sat at the dining room table. Dad ate in his TP fort, the sounds of explosions, gunshots, and Arabic screaming drifting from it as he went on a rampage in Steal That Car. "Don't get one of them paws stuck in your teeth!" he shouted. An explosion followed and he laughed maniacally.

Lincoln looked at Johnny and then his mother, they both shook their heads in consternation.

By the time dinner and clean up were done, it was pushing seven-thirty and the sun had set, leaving the world cast in the soft pall of twilight glow. Lincoln told his mother that he was going out, and slipped out the back door, Johnny right behind him. "I thought you wanted to social distance," Lincoln said smugly.

"I wanna play video games even more," Johnny admitted.

Ha, knew it.

Around front, the streetlamps lining the sidewalks came on one by one and a warm breeze redolent of flowers blew up and down the empty avenue. Normally on such a nice evening, the sounds of laughing children and the smell of succulent barbeques would season the air, but everyone was hiding inside from the Pabstvirus. Gen X and Millenial parents were too afraid to let their kids leave the house, Boomers were at the store panic buying months worth of Metamucil and Bengay, and Zoomers - Lincoln's generation - were locked in their bathrooms and uploading pictures of themselves licking toilet seats to Instagram.

"The van's not there," Johnny pointed out.

Indeed, Mr. Loud's hunk o' junk wasn't in the driveway, but lights blazed in the first story windows. "Well...someone's there," Lincoln said.

They crossed the street and climbed the steps. Lincoln whipped a switchblade from his and pressed a button: A comb popped out and he ran it through his hair to make himself more presentable. He and Johnny were going to have to con Mr. and Mrs. Loud into letting them in and you can't work someone if you look like a deranged slob. He knocked and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

He knocked again, louder this time. When no one answered, he went to the front window, cupped his hands to his face, and peered in.

The Loud sisters sat together on the couch and faced straight ahead like statues, Leni, Luna, Luan, Lynn, Lucy, Lana, Lola, Lisa, and Lily, biggest to littlest like a line of Russian nesting dolls. He didn't see Lori anywhere, maybe she was upstairs pooping?

Lincoln balled his fist and banged on the glass, but none of them turned to look at him. "Hey," he said. "Someone's at your door."

Nothing.

Really? Wow. Just wow.

Kind of mad now, Lincoln pushed away from the window and tried the knob.

It was open.

He opened the door and walked in, Johnny bringing up the rear. 'Seriously?" Lincoln asked.

The Loud girls kept on staring at the TV, which, strangely, wasn't on. None blinked, none moved, none even so much as breathed.

It was kind of creepy.

"Hello?" he asked.

No reply.

Alright, this was getting ridiculous. He walked over to the couch and stood before them, his hands going sternly to his hips, looking so much like his mom when she was getting ready to lay down the law that Johnny snorted. "What's with you guys?" he asked. "I knocked on your door, I knocked on your window, I walked in like I own the place - what gives?"

Lola bared her teeth and hissed something that he couldn't make out. "What was that, Princess?" Lincoln asked. "I'm not good enough for a normal tone, you gotta whisper?"

She repeated herself. Lincoln leaned in and cupped his hand to his ear with a flourish.

Johnny slapped him in the back of the head. "Dude, stop acting like Hulk Hogan."

Lola's eyes flashed icily. "Help...us…" she said.

Before Lincoln could process her words, a shadow fell over him from behind. He and Johnny both spun on their heels to face whatever horror had befallen the Louds. Lincoln expected Leatherface, Jason Voorhees, or even The Harvester, but what confronted him was even worse. It was tall and stony, its eyes hidden behind the dark lenses of Aviator sunglasses. A green coat clung to its form like reptilian skin. It was...it was…

It was Lori.

"What are you two doing here?" she demanded.

Lincoln's eyes flickered to the riding crop in her hand.

Uh-oh. Lori was babysitting again.

The oldest of the Loud brood, Lori had always been put in charge of her sisters when her parents left the house. She responded by becoming a totalitarian strongwoman who'd sooner disappear you than look at you. Her sisters called her Hitler behind her back and dreaded being left with her, because the moment their parents were gone, Lori shut everything down. Her rules were as follows:

No TV.

No music.

No snacking.

No moving.

No talking.

And, most importantly of all, no video gaming.

Darn it.

But see, Lori liked video games. A lot. She had an epic set up in her bedroom and spent loads of time pwning noobs on it while chatting with her boyfriend Bobby on Discord. She had a gaming server with 10,000 members that was one of the most well known and respected in the video game community. Lincoln really wanted to join it but she had a strict rule: No one under sixteen. He created an alt to get in, but she figured out it was him almost immediately and swung the ban hammer. When he asked her how she knew, she rolled her eyes. You used The Rock as your profile picture.

I was trying to swerve you, he said, since I don't like wrestling.

Sure you don't, Lincoln.

Her basically calling him a wrestling fan made him so mad that he stormed off, hotter than Jim Cornette after a three hour creative meeting with Vince Russo and Eric Bischoff. "Uh, hey, Lori," he said, "how, uh, how's it going?"

Lori crossed her arms and fixed him with a glare.

Faster than you can say put on ice, Lincoln and Johnny were wedged between Lana and Lola, their hands on their laps. "Come on, Lori," Lincoln said. "I just wanna play a few rounds of -"

"No," Lori said.

"But -"

"No, Lincoln," she said more firmly. "I'm in charge and when I'm in charge, we sit on the couch, stare into space, and then go to bed."

Ugh.

"You're so boring."

So quick Lincoln almost missed it, Lori slapped the riding crop against the table with a whip-crack report that made everyone jump. "Boring is a good thing, Lincoln," she said, "boring doesn't destroy the house."

"We don't destroy the house," Luna argued.

Lori cocked her eyebrow. "Okay," Luna said, "one time."

"Yeah," Leni said, "we can, like, totes not go crazy this time."

Luan spoke up next. "Just give us a chance."

"We promise we won't destroy the house," Lola swore.

Everyone else voiced their agreement, even Lily, who slapped her bare feet and let out an impassioned Poo-poop. Lori stood up straight and crossed her arms, her lips pursing incredulously. "Look, Lori," Lincoln said, "all of your sisters are older now. Sure, Lynn plays football in the house sometimes, and yeah, Luan might prank the place into the Stone Age here and there, but I'm sure they can all keep it together. Right, guys?"

"Yeah!" the Loud girls said in unison.

Johnny looked at Lori. "You don't have to do the dictator routine anymore. Everyone knows you go hard. Give them a chance and if they act a fool, throw the book at them." He turned left and right. "None of you guys want that, right?"

"No!"

"So are you gonna give Lori a hard time if she loosens up?"

"No!"

Johnny looked up at Lori and spread his hands. "There you have it."

The oldest Loud girl scrunched her lips from side to side in contemplation and drummed her fingers on her arm. Suspense hung thick in the air, and everyone leaned forward in anticipation of her reply. "Every time I pull back," she said, "these psychopaths -"

"Hey!" the sisters in question said.

" - go completely nuts and literally ruin the house. That reflects poorly on me. I don't want to be a dictator, but they leave me no choice."

"When's the last time you pulled back?" Johnny asked.

Lori opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again. "Hmmm. A year or two, I think."

"Well, there you go," Johnny said. "It's been a while. Things have changed."

Lincoln looked around. "You guys have learned your lesson, right?"

"Yeah!"

Returning his attention to Lori, Lincoln called upon all the hustle powers he had. "Just give it a shot. I know you don't like doing this. I know you'd much rather be playing video games right now instead. All you have to do is have a little faith in your sisters."

Lori tapped her chin with her index finger.

"Just a little faith."

She let out a pent up breath. "Fine. I'll pull back."

Everyone erupted into cheers. Leni excitedly fisted her hands, Lana and Lola high fived, Lynn jumped to her feet and thrusted her hips back and forth in an end zone victory dance, and Lily slapped her feet.

"But if you so much as spill one drink or leave one crumb," Lori cautioned, "I will come down on you like Judgement Day."

"We won't," Lynn said.

"Promise," Lana added.

For a moment, Lori glared at them to drive her point home, then tossed the riding crop over her shoulder and started upstairs. "Alright. Come on, we're playing Modern Warfare."

Lincoln and Johnny bumped fists and followed Lori upstairs. In her room, the last on the left before the bathroom, they sat on the foot of her bed, Lori in the middle. Shelves crammed with game systems lined the walls, and posters for Legend of Zelda, Super Mario 64, and other classic games stared down at them. A desk sitting under the window boasted a gaming PC with every attachment and add-on you could imagine. Lori took her hobby very seriously and even hosted streams of herself playing. Don't tell anyone, but she was a semi-popular YouTuber whose highest viewed video recently cracked one million. A lot of guys, Lincoln suspected, only watched because she was attractive and a gamer, a combination you don't often find in girls. Imagine being that big of a socially maladjusted creeper.

Leaning over and switching her Play-Box on, Lori handed a controller to Lincoln and Johnny each and took one for herself. The main menu appeared onscreen and Lori pressed start. "You guys ready?"

"So ready," Johnny said.

"It's been forever since I played a video game," Lincoln said.

"Because you spend all your time with Maggie," Johnny said.

The game started, screen split three ways. "How are you and Maggie?" Lori asked. "Lucy said she's really into you."

Lincoln blushed. "We're good. She's on a road trip now and I...I kind of miss her."

"Aww," Lori said. Onscreen, her character turned to Lincoln's and shot him in the head. "That should make you feel better."

Lincoln's jaw dropped, then his eyes narrowed. "Oh, so that's how it is?"

For the next hour, Lincoln, Lori, and Johnny picked through the ruins of a bomb-blasted city and took potshots at each other. Lincoln crouched behind a shattered wall and sniped Johnny and Lori every time they passed, forcing them to team up and take him out with grenades. "Take that, freaking camper," Johnny said and jammed his finger into Lincoln's forehead.

Lincoln threw out his elbow and hit Johnny in the ribs. "You're gonna lose that finger if you keep it up."

While they were arguing, Lori's character sneaked up behind theirs and cut each one's throat with a knife. "Ha,' she said, "get rekt."

"That's not fair!" Johnny cried.

"Yeah," Lincoln echoed, "we were arguing."

"Yeah, in the middle of a warzone," Lori said. "Next time wait until you're back in your barracks."

After the last round where Lori hunted them down like animals and cut them to ribbons with her AK, she turned off the TV and stood up. "Let's go see how the others are doing."

They went downstairs.

At the bottom step, Lori froze.

"OH MY GOD!"

How were the others doing? Heh, not good. Mud, crumbs, and spilled drinks littered the floor. The couch and coffee table were both overturned, the TV lay on its side, sticky splatters of god only knows what spackled the walls, and heaps of toys, books, and dirty clothes were piled here and there like rubble. The fire alarm suddenly went off, and the smell of burning found Lincoln's nose. Luan came out of the kitchen, covered in flour, whipped cream, and other things, and a cloud of smoke rolled after her. "I burned my pies," she said mournfully.

Lana crouched behind the coffee table and Lola the couch. They popped up and shot at each other with Super Soakers. Lana's stream hit Lincoln in the eye and he howled. It wasn't water...it was apple juice. "MY EYE!"

In the corner, Luna stood atop a giant amp and shredded her guitar and Leni drew on the walls, stopping to admire her work. Lily crawled past in a full diaper, and Lisa stood over a broken test tube, its contents eating through the floor. "It wasn't supposed to be that corrosive," she said when Johnny cocked his eyebrow.

Lynn rode by on a dirt bike (with no helmet, I might add), and Lucy sat quietly in the darkness of the fireplace and read.

Rubbing his eyes, Lincoln looked up at Lori. Her face was red and clenched, one eye twitching and her shoulders rising and falling with the rhythmic flare of her nostrils. Her hands balled into fists and she began to shake like a tea kettle on a hot stove.

Uh-oh.

Fire in her eyes, teeth sharp as razors, Lori let out a thunderous bellow that resounded through the house and stopped everyone in their tracks. "LOOK AT THIS HOUSE!"

Quick as lightning, she took off. She snatched Lynn off the dirt bike and shoved her into the wall; she grabbed Lola's Super Soaker and broke it over her knee, making Lincoln wince; she plucked the crayon from Leni's hand and snapped it; she ripped the cord out of Luna's amp, then chewed it madly between her teeth; she took one of Luan's pies and slammed it into the joker's face; she grabbed Lana by the back of her shirt and spun, then let go - Lana flew into the dining room, screaming at the top of her lungs; she started to go after Lucy, but stopped, "You're actually fine.'

Finally she stood over Lincoln and Johnny, huffing and puffing like Sandy when Patrick and Spongebob woke her up from hibernation. Lincoln and Johnny hugged each other and shook in terror. "THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!"

"NO!" Lincoln and Johnny cried in unison.

"NOW YOU'RE GOING TO PAY."

Five minutes later, she handed Lincoln and Johnny cleaning supplies. "Clean everything," she commanded.

"What about the people who actually made the mess?" Johnny asked.

"I'll deal with them."

The kitchen was caked with food and littered with trash. Lincoln scrubbed the sink, counters, and walls while Johnny picked up the trash, swept, did the dishes, and mopped. Next, they joined the Loud girls in picking up the living room. They all worked in grim sillence while Lori kept watch from the sidelines, her arms crossed over her chest. When they were finished, she sent Lincoln and Johnny to clean the upstairs bathroom "just because."

UGH.

"I'm actually shocked they did this," Johnny said as he cleaned the toilet.

"Yeah," Lincoln agreed, "I guess Lori was right."

Done, they went downstairs and came to a halt. The Loud girls were bunched on the couch as they had been earlier, only this time they were wrapped in duct tape, a strip covering each one's mouth. Lori glowered at them. "You have proven to me tonight that you can't handle me pulling back, so if you thought I was bad before, just wait: You'll be begging for the old Lori back."

All of her sisters shot Lincoln and Johnny dirty looks.

"We're not the bozos who tore down the house," Johnny said.

"We know how to act like we have some sense."

Lori turned to them, and they shrank back. "As for you two clowns, I called your parents."

Lincoln's heart dropped. "What?"

Lori cracked an evil smile. "Bye."

The whole way back home, Lincoln and Johnny worried over what punishment they would receive. Would Dad make them watch wrestling until their eyes bled? Would Mom force them to antique every Saturday for the rest of their lives?

No, it was even worse.

Mom took every electronic device away from them. No phone, no TV, not even comic books. "We didn't even do anything," Johnny argued.

And that comment earned them an early bedtime.

"Stupid Lori," Lincoln grumbled as he lay in bed.

"Yeah," Johnny said, "but at least we're not related to her."

Both of them shuddered.

Lincoln would hate being a Loud.

"Who knows," Johnny said, "maybe in an alternate universe, you are."

Lincoln laughed.

But that night...he had a nightmare that he was.

And he hated it.


	10. April Fools Rules

Lincoln and Johnny fought a lot but they were also close, every poke, slap, and insult a sign of affection (or aggravation, one of the two). They hung out constantly and whenever you saw one, you could rest assured that the other wasn't far behind.

Being so tight, each one's habits, tastes, and dislikes sometimes rubbed off on the other. For instance, Johnny took up drawing and every once in a while, Lincoln enjoyed rattling around the kitchen and trying to make something from scratch. He wasn't very good, but every so often, he somehow crapped out something edible. Johnny loved that Lincoln was interested in the chef life - even if his interest was only tepid - and recruited him to help cook elaborate meals and artery-clogging snacks. Johnny's favorite dishes were fried macaroni bites and king-sized, batter-fried hamburgers on sticks - he got the idea for that episode of Spongebob where some fish orders the same thing and Squidward seethes over how disgusting it is. For added flavor, Johnny added two pretzel bun chili dogs stacked on top of each other.

In other words, he wanted to have a heart attack and die.

Lincoln, on the other hand, liked slow cooked cocktail sausages. You put them in a crock pot with BBQ sauce and grape jelly, and when they came out, they were so good they made you want to slap your grandma. Which wasn't a good idea if your grandma's an old school black woman from Georgia like Lincoln's. She will make you cut a switch, and if you don't know what that means, consider yourself lucky.

His white grandmother didn't play either, come to think of it. She'd only go upside your head, though.

Anyway, it was a cool, rainy Friday afternoon and Lincoln and Johnny were in the kitchen waiting for their latest batch of macaroni bites to come out of the oven. Mom dragged Dad to the indoor flea market in Elk Park and they had the house of themselves. Lincoln stood at the sink, washing dishes and humming to himself, and Johnny scrolled through his phone looking for dessert recipes; they had a bar of semi-sweet baker's chocolate and he wanted to get the most out of it. Occasionally, Lincoln would mutter snatches of song and Johnny would shoot him daggers.

"If you ever take a trip down to Cobb County, Georgia.

You better read the signs

Respect the law and order.

You'll serve hard times."

Johnny sat his phone on the table. "Alright, dude, we need to talk about this."

"About what?" Lincoln asked, perplexed.

"About -"

Johnny cut off when a loud bang came at the door. Lincoln glanced over his shoulder and Johnny tensed. "Who could that be?" Lincoln asked.

Bang, bang, bang.

"I don't know," Johnny said and got to his feet, "sounds like the cops." He peeked around the corner, then ducked into the living room, crossing the distance low and fast, Lincoln following with a wooden spoon just in case they needed to fight. Johnny took up position by the door and Lincoln pulled the curtain back from the front window to peer outside.

The Loud family was huddled on the front porch, their expressions ranging from horror to terror. They shot worried looks over their shoulders, and Lisa pounded on the door, panic in her eyes.

Something was wrong.

"It's the Louds," Lincoln said.

Johnny unlocked the handle, and the door burst open as the Louds streamed in, yelling excitedly and talking over one another. Lynn Sr. slammed the door, locked it, and threw himself against it, his chest rising and falling. Lana, Lynn Jr., and Luna jockeyed for a place in front of the window. Lana pulled the curtain back, and Lucy yanked her away. "Stop," she said, "she might see you."

Leni sat on the floor, hugging herself and rocking back and forth, and Lisa sat on the coffee table and stared into space like a shell shocked grunt who had just watched her entire platoon cut to ribbons by insurgents.

"Hey!" Johnny called, and everyone fell silent. "What happened?"

Everyone started talking at once, and Lincoln slapped the spoon hard against the window sill to quiet them. "Mr. Loud," he said and jabbed the spoon at Mr. Loud. Mr. Loud jumped and let out a traumatized moan. "What happened?"

"It's Luan," he fumbled. "S-She's gone crazy."

"She's been pranking us non-stop for days," Luna explained. "She replaced my drumsticks with chicken legs, man. Chicken legs!"

Lisa let out a humorless laugh. "She replaced my apple juice with Sodium Pyruvate-C17, which induces hallucinogenic effects. I "tripped" for hours."

That made Lincoln wince.

"It's been awful," Mrs. Loud said.

Lincoln and Johnny looked at each other. It was March 31 and tomorrow was April Fools Day, when Luan Loud cut loose and pranked her family up one side and down the other. In the days leading up to it, she gave them a taste of what was to come that was sometimes just as strong as the main event.

"Have you pranked her back?" Johnny asked.

The Louds looked confused.

No, apparently, they hadn't.

"We keep telling you," Lincoln said, "you have to give her a taste of her own medicine."

Johnny nodded. "Yeah, see how she likes it."

"We don't know the first thing about pranking," Mr. Loud said.

A wicked grin spread across Johnny's face. "Leave that to us."

* * *

Luan Loud sat on her bean bag chair with her fingers steepled and shadows pooled in the recesses of her face. The hour of prankening was close at hand and she was giddy with anticipation. She had waited all year for this and she would relish every second of tomorrow. Her family and her friends would fall one by one until none were left unpranked and she would cackle laughter over their prostrate forms.

Her mother called out to her from downstairs, and getting up, she went to the head of the stairs. "What?"

When Mom didn't reply, she went down the steps and into the living room.

Empty.

Huh.

"Mom?"

"In the kitchen."

She went into the sun washed kitchen.

No one.

She looked around, her confusion deepening. Overhead, the vent grate moved soundlessly aside and Lana's face appeared. She removed a black tarantula from her pocket and brushed her index finger lovingly between its eyes. On the other side of the grate, Johnny gagged. He'd never know why Lana kept stuff like snakes and spiders as pets. Lizards and frogs he could get, but creepy crawlies? Ugh.

He and Lana looked at each other, and Lana nodded. Johnny stuck his face in the grate and did his best impression of Mrs. Loud...which was shockingly good. "Up here, honey.'

Moving quickly aside, Lana took his place and dropped the spider just as Luan looked up. It landed on her face, hairy legs splayed, and her eyes crossed. It took her a moment to realize what it was, and when she did, she let out an ear piercing shriek and jumped. The spider dropped off and scuttled away, and Luan ran out of the kitchen, arms flailing and sobs bursting from her throat. Lana and Johnny high fived. "That was awesome," Lana said.

"Told you."

Elsewhere in the house, Luan staggered into her room and went to her knees. Shudders racked her body and she panted heavily for air. She could still feel the tickle of spidery legs on her cheeks, and a shiver went down her spine. She got to her feet, went to the bean bag chair, and sat down, her arms crossing over her chest. She rubbed her arms for warmth and got herself under control. Lana was going to be in a world of prank induced hurt when Luan got her hands on her.

She tried to stand up, but her butt stuck fast to her seat. She pulled, tugged, and yanked, and finally she came loose and spilled to her hands and knees with a rip of tearing fabric. She got to her feet and felt her butt: There was a hole in her pants through which you could see her underwear. What the…?

Bending over, she hovered her face over the bean bag and took a deep whiff.

Super glue.

Her eyes creaked to narrow slits.

This wasn't the work of Lana. It wasn't even the work of her entire family in cahoots. Only two people on earth would be foolish - and cunning - enough to prank her.

Lincoln and Johnny.

She grinned evilly.

It was so on.

* * *

Johnny came slowly and languidly awake on the morning of April 1, his mind gradually rising from the depths of sleep and his senses switching on for the day. He fluttered his eyes open, smacked his lips, and squinted at the clock on the nightstand. 7am. Since it was Saturday, he didn't have to get up yet, but he was rested and refreshed and wanted to surf the web for cat videos - he loved cat videos, especially the ones where they squeeze themselves into places too small for them. LOL. Legendary.

He sat up, threw the blanket off, and screamed.

His X-Station lay between his legs, smashed into a million pieces. Broken bits of plastic, motherboard, and other techno innards littered the sheet, and the controller stared up at him, its cord cut.

"What?" Lincoln asked from his bed. He was sitting up, dazed and puffy with sleep.

Johnny squeezed his eyes shut against the gruesome image before him and shook his head from side to side in denial of what he was seeing. Tears oozed down his cheeks and a mournful moan trembled past his quivering lips. Lincoln came over, saw the pitiful remains of their game system, and let out a broken gasp. "It's horrible," Johnny moaned. "It's awful, it's inhuman." His voice broke. "Linc -"

Lincoln slapped him. "Get a grip."

Sniffing, Johnny rubbed his stinging cheek. "Luan did this," he said.

"I know," Lincoln said grimly. "And we're gonna pay her back."

Sitting on Johnny's bed, they came up with a game plan. Lincoln produced a piece of paper and laid it out, revealing the blueprints for the Loud house. "We'll go in here," he said and tapped the storm door accessing the cellar. "We go in fast and we go hard, no mercy. Once inside, we engage."

They dressed in black tactical gear - pants, boots, vests, and gloves - and each filled a bag with supplies. Johnny sat at the desk and assembled a dozen homemade stink bombs while Lincoln filled two Super Soakers with water and blue food coloring. Mom and Dad were still asleep when they slipped out the back door, Johnny in the lead; hopefully they'd be back before their parents woke up and discovered they were missing. Mom and Dad both slept late on Sundays and didn't crawl out of bed until noon; the attack, God willing, should be over by then.

Clutching their Super Soakers to their chests like commandos darting through the brush, Lincoln and Johnny dashed to the other side of the street, hunched to make smaller targets of themselves. They angled across the front lawn, hit the side yard, and pressed their backs against the siding. Johnny pointed to his eyes, then nodded back toward their house. Watch my back. Lincoln nodded, slipped his finger around the trigger, and turned to face the street. He walked backwards, keeping his back to Johnny's, that way he knew when to stop and where to go. At the corner, Johnny halted, and Lincoln crouched down. The storm door was just on the other side, beneath the dining room window. They'd have to be quick to avoid being seen.

"Alright," Johnny said, "on three. One. Two. Three."

He ducked around the corner and Lincoln followed. The backyard stood empty in the amber morning sun. So big. So open. Lincoln swallowed hard and looked around, expecting Luan to rush out from hiding like a hungry shark at the scent of blood. Johnny pulled open the hatch and hurried down the steps. Lincoln swept the backyard one final time with his Super Soaker, then went after, closing the door behind them.

Shafts of dusty sunlight falling through narrow windows revealed a cramped space with concrete floors and rough stone walls. Bare pipes and wires crisscrossed the ceiling and a hot water heater occupied a corner. Lincoln and Johnny flipped on the flashlights attached to the barrels of their Super Soakers; dust motes danced and swirled in the beams like snow. The air was hot, close, and sweat dampened the neck and underarms of Lincoln's shirt.

They moved carefully for fear of booby traps but none presented themselves. At the bottom of the steps, they stopped. "Okay," Johnny whispered, "the others are probably in Lisa's bunker already, so we won't have to worry about them getting in the way. Luan probably isn't expecting us to come so early, which gives us the element of surprise. Stick close and keep your eyes open."

Lincoln started to reply but a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye stopped him. He turned just as the door at the top of the stairs opened and something tumbled down the stairs. Johnny saw it and went pale. "Hit the deck!"

They dove aside and moments later, the device went off with a quiet poof. Dense white smoke filled the air. Lincoln crawled beneath the stairs for shelter, and Johnny threw himself behind a wooden trunk. Lincoln unshouldered his pack, undid the buckles, and yanked out a gas mask. He quickly pulled it on and across the way, Johnny did the same. The smoke touched Lincoln's bare flesh and it began to itch.

Itching powder.

Johnny motioned for him to follow, then came around the trunk and crept up the stairs. At the top, they knelt side by side. Johnny took one of the stink bombs from a bandolier around his chest, pulled the pin out, and rolled it into the kitchen. It detonated, and green fog spewed out, hanging heavy in the air. Johnny rushed out, and a beat later, Lincoln followed.

A few feet into the living room, Johnny walked into a tripwire and a pie shot out from nowhere, hitting him in the side of the face. "I'm hit!" he cried. Lincoln turned and caught a flash of movement on the stairs. He jerked the trigger and a stream of blue water splattered the wall. He ducked down, pulled Johnny to the floor, and commando crawled to the bottom of the stairs. He got to his knees and aimed up the stairs.

Nothing moved.

He got to his feet and started up the steps. Suddenly, a bag of flower on the end of a string swung toward his face. He ducked, but when he tried to get up, his hands stuck to the tread. He pulled and frowned.

The carpet had been replaced by fly paper.

He slipped his hands out of his gloves and waded up, his feet ripping from the paper with a tacky sound. He spotted another tripwire, motioned to Johnny, and stepped over it. In the second floor hall, he pressed himself against the wall and scoped the lay of the land. Jacks and Legos littered the floor.

Without warning, Luan's bedroom door opened and she darted out. Lincoln and Johnny both fired. She disappeared into Lori's room.

"Let's move,' Johnny said.

They rushed down the hall, things crunching underfoot, and threw open the door.

Luan was nowhere to be found.

"Where is she?" Lincoln asked.

Something dropped out of the vent overhead and landed on the floor. Before either Lincoln or Johnny could move, it exploded, and ketchup splattered them. Luan's mad laughter drifted from the grate.

"Give me a boost!" Johnny yelled.

Lincoln got on his hands and knees and Johnny stood on his back. He took one of the stink bombs and shoved it into the vent. It went off with a metallic bang, and Johnny jumped down. Somewhere in the duct work, Luan launched into a coughing fit. "I'm gonna flush her out," Johnny said, "help me back up."

He climbed onto Lincoln's back again and then into the vents. When he was gone, Lincoln followed the banging of his movements out into the hall, then into Lisa's room. He pushed the door open, and a can of paint perched on top tipped over, its contents spilling onto his head and shoulders. He jumped back and fell against Mr. and Mrs. Loud's door; it popped open and he went down, splashing into a baby pool filled with cold water. It soaked his sensitive parts, and he jumped to his feet with a shocked cry. He tripped another wire, and feathers rained down on him, sticking to the paint covering his mask and shoulders.

Back in the hall, he started toward Luan's room just as the door opened and she appeared. His heart jumped into his throat and he aimed the Super Soaker at her. She registered his presence and froze, the look on her face telling him she wasn't expecting him to be here. "Freeze!"

Behind her, Johnny dropped out of the vent and moved in, Super Soaker pointed at her back. Luan looked left and right like a cornered animal for escape. "The jig is up, Luan," Johnny said.

"Put your hands in the air," Lincoln said.

Luan took a deep breath. Grim resignation filled her eyes; she knew it was over and that she had lost. She was the master pranker and had been honing her craft since she was in elementary school, but she made a fatal misstep. She was so used to pranking the weak that she wasn't expecting someone to actually fight back. Her sisters cowered before her, her friends cowered before her, even her parents, but not Lincoln and Johnny.

"Alright," she said, "you got me."

With that, she began to unbutton her shirt.

"Freeze!" Lincoln commanded.

Beneath, she wore some kind of vest.

Suddenly, a denonator was in her hand. "But I got you too."

Lincoln screamed and Johnny fell back a step. Grinning evilly, she pressed the button, and thick purple goop exploded outward.

When the metaphorical smoke cleared, the fire alarm was going off, purple covered every surface, the walls were cracked, and Luan's door hung by one hinge.

That day Lincoln and Johnny learned that you can never outclass a prank master.


	11. Cash and Burn

Johnny leaned against the rough-hewn workbench and flipped a coin. It spun into the air, landed on his palm, and disappeared when he closed his hand. He reached behind his own ear and pulled it out, then flipped it once more, starting the process all over again. Coin tricks were one of Johnny's specialties; back when he and Lincoln used to hustle people at the park for money, he'd do elaborate routines that involved two and sometimes three coins at a time. Now he only did them when he was bored or deep in thought.

And right now he was bored.

It was a hot and muggy Sunday afternoon and he and Lincoln had been in the garage most of the day working on their latest project, an old school Coke machine with a glass front that they rescued from the junkyard on Route 9. About six feet tall and three feet wide, it was currently resting lengthwise on a stack of cinderblocks, Lincoln underneath on a backboard. From here, all Johnny could see were his legs jutting out; every so often, he dropped his wrench on the floor with a clang and issued an exasperated, "Darn it."

"You almost done?" Johnny asked.

"Almost," Lincoln grunted, "Go make some sandwiches and leave me alone."

Johnny started to snap, but he _did _need to make some sandwiches. "Alright," he said and pushed away from the workbench. "Stuff's in the fridge, right?"

The wrench clattered to the concrete again and Lincoln sighed. "Where else would it be?"

"I could think of a place," Johnny muttered to himself. He crossed the garage and opened the door connecting to the kitchen. Cool air rushed over him and dried the sweat to his forehead. Mom was in the living room watching some kind of cooking show and Dad was nowhere to be seen; he was probably in the attic listening to Public Enemy with Sergio.

Opening the fridge door, Johnny fetched a package each of roast beef, ham, turkey, and Swiss cheese. He sat them on the counter and slipped a loaf of Sarah Lee white bread from the cabinet. Once he had everything he needed, he set about assembling them into sandwiches, stopping only when the bread ran out. He counted eight of them, then cut each one diagonally, wrapped them in Saran, and put them into Ziploc baggies. He was just finishing up when Lincoln came in, sweaty and covered in grease and dirt. "Coke machine's done."

"Awesome," Johnny said.

Lincoln and Johnny were capitalists through and through, and were always on the lookout for new ways to make money. A long time ago, they hustled and stole, but these days they were on the up and up and actually worked for their coin, creating a dozen different business ventures over the past year and a half from shovelling driveways to fixing bikes. Their most recent method was three pronged. One, they fixed up old vending machines they raided from the junkyard, filled them with snacks (most of them homemade), then deposited them in high traffic areas. Once a week, they went around, replenished the stock, and collected the money. Two, they sold sandwiches from Lincoln's locker. They lucked into that one; the school switched food distributors and the quality of the fare in the cafeteria took a nosedive, leading most kids to either pack their own lunch or go hungry. Where there is a demand for something, say food, there is always someone willing to supply.

They also ran the school supply store. All profits went to the PTA but Lincoln and Johnny skimmed a little off the top and fudged the record book (okay, maybe they weren't all the way legit, but Rome wasn't built in a day).

Lastly, they sold music from songs they make with their two person band. (Lincoln played the cello, Johnny played guitar, with drums wrapped in wires connected to him like a band geek).

"I'm gonna get cleaned up," Lincoln said and grabbed a Coke from the fridge, "when I'm done, we'll run it over to the hospital."

While Lincoln showered, Johnny filled a cardboard box with cans of Chocolate Cherry Cola and carried it out to the garage. He got down on his knees before the machine, opened the front with a special key, and jammed the cans in until it was full. Next, he went outside and around the corner. A cart with wood slats for sides sat along the garage's western wall, tall grass hiding its dry rotted wheels. He stooped, lifted the hitch, and dragged it out to the driveway, its rusted frame creaking dangerously. He sat it down, took a step back, and considered it.

He and Lincoln found it on one of their many excursions to the old Sutter Farm south of town. Abandoned as long as anyone remembered, the Sutter Farm consisted of a decaying house, a tumbledown barn, and a slanted grain silo surrounded by thick forest and overgrown fields gone to seed. Legend had it that the former owner, Old Man Sutter (because what else would he be called but 'Old Man'?) fled in the dead of night after the cops raided his moonshine still and never came back. Johnny didn't know if that was true or not, but Old Man Sutter (if he really existed) really did leave in a hurry: The barn and house were filled with tools, supplies, and appliances, every room furnished and laid out as if awaiting their master's return. Johnny and Lincoln went there all the time and came away with all sorts of stuff. Last summer, they took the TV from the living room, which was no easy task since it was one of those old school ones that were as big as dressers. The manufacture date on the back was Aug. 1977 and miraculously still worked. They sold it to the TV and Appliance store on Main Street for twenty bucks.

The cart, Johnny imagined, was used to haul hay from the field to the barn (where they found it). He and Lincoln had been loading it with things a lot heavier, and it was starting to break down. There was a chance it wouldn't make it to the hospital. Man, if it broke down, he and Linc were screwed.

He was still standing there and imagining the worst when Lincoln came out a few minutes later, dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up his scrawny arms. He took out a razor blade and pressed a button: A comb popped out like a greaser's pocket knife. He ran it through his hair and followed Johnny's line of sight. "What's up?" he asked.

"I'm worried this piece of junk's gonna crap out on us," Johnny said. "It feels like it's going to fall apart."

Lincoln closed his comb, shoved it back into his pocket, and walked around the cart in a slow circle. He kicked one of the tires, and the whole thing wobbled. He picked up the hitch and a deathly shudder ran through the frame. "Huh," he said and sat it back down. "I don't know."

"What if it breaks on the way and we get stranded?"

Lincoln was quiet for a moment. "We'll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it."

He dragged it into the garage, took the wooden slats out, and stacked them in the corner, leaving the cart open on all sides. "Help me with this, will you?" Lincoln asked and nodded to the soda machine. He got on one side and Johnny the other, and on the count of three, they lifted; Johnny's back quivered, his arms strained, and his eyes bugged from their sockets. "This is heavy," he hissed through his teeth.

"So's your mom," Lincoln hitched.

"She's your mom too, jackass."

"Shut up and worry about the machine," Lincoln snapped.

They got it to the cart and sat it carefully down, front facing up. Johnny dusted his hands off and stretched his aching back muscles. Lincoln fetched a few bungee cords from a tool chest, climbed onto the cart, and secured the machine, pulling them as tight as he could. He gave it a testing shake, and it barely moved. "We're good," he said and jumped off.

Johnny attached the hitch to the back of his bike and wound duct tape around it to keep it in place. Done, he climbed on and pulled a U-turn. The cart groaned and swayed, but held together.

For now.

Lincoln grabbed his bike from between the side of the garage and the fence separating their yard from the next one over, and side by side, they made their way north along Franklin Avenue. At the end of the street, they turned left, then right. Three blocks later, they came to Central Street, where fast food joints, cheap motels, and gas stations crowded the cracked and trash strewn sidewalk. Central was the roughest and ugliest place in all of Royal Woods. The three neighborhoods that branched off of it were packed with dilapidated houses and Section 8 apartment buildings where guys sold weed and drank forties all day instead of working. Dad grew up on Compton Street and hated it; the other black kids used to roast him for liking wrestling and called him Ric Gayer, a play on Ric Flair but with more homophobia. He told Lincoln and Johnny to never go into those 'hoods or he'd ground them for a month.

That wasn't their destination, though.

St. Eligius Hospital sat on five acres of land at the end of Medical Drive, a sprawling complex six floors high. Its stonework was faded and scrubbed raw by time and weather, and the decorative window molding sagged in places, adding to the building's atmosphere of age and decrepitude. Inside, a maze of dimly lit corridors zigzagged back and forth, some completely shuttered and disused, and vast wards with vaulted ceilings housed only a handful of patients at a time. Your footfalls echoed everywhere you went, and it was all too easy for your imagination to run away with you. Like every hospital ever, St. Eligius was reputed to be haunted by the ghosts of people who had died there over the years. Of course places full of misery and death get that kind of rap; Johnny laughed at it in the daylight, but the few times he was deep in the bowels of the place, alone with only cobwebs and flickering overhead lights to keep him company, he believed in the supernatural wholeheartedly.

They turned into the main entrance and navigated their way to the double doors leading into the emergency department. An ambule idled at the curb and red NO SMOKING signs glared at them from their perches on the exterior walls. Johnny backed the cart to the doors, hopped off his bike, and helped Lincoln untie the bungee cords. They fought the machine into the stone-floored atrium and sat it up in a little alcove where people passing by could easily see it. Lincoln got down on his knees and plugged it into the outlet; It lit up and began to hum a low, enchanting siren song. _Come spend your money, I got Chocolate Cherry Cola, honey. _Lincoln got to his feet, and he and Johnny bumped fists. "Mission accomplished," Johnny said.

The heavens picked that moment to differ. "Excuse me!"

A woman in blue scrubs hurried over, her Karen cut rustling around her forehead. Uh-oh, she wants to speak to our manager. She stopped, put her hands on her hips, and regarded them with tight-lipped disapproval. "What are you doing?"

"Installing a vending machine," Johnny said.

Wasn't that obvious?

"I'm sorry, but we already have vending machines," she said. "You're going to have to take it away."

"But we cleared it with Dr. Raymond," Lincoln said, "we're gonna donate 90 percent of the profit to the children's ward."

Dr. Frank Raymond was in charge of St. Eligius's emergency room. He and Dad knew each other from the RWWFFC - the Royal Woods Wrestling Fanatics Fan Club. Dr. Raymond was a soft spoken and cerebral man in his sixties and looked for all the world like a wise old college professor, but apparently even smart people can like fake fights between men in tights.

Heh, that rhymed. Johnny would have to write that one down.

Karen lifted an incredulous brow. "Oh, really?" she challenged.

Lincoln and Johnny both nodded. "You can call him and ask him," Johnny said.

"I will," Karen spat. It was clear from her tone that she thought they were lying, and that once she was done calling Dr. Raymond, she would get to chew them out and make them leave. LOL.

While she sat behind the front desk and called Dr. Raymond, Johnny fed four quarters into the machine and pressed a button. The door unlocked and he took a can of Chocolate Cherry Cola out. He cracked it open, tilted his head back, opened his mouth, and poured some in, never once touching it to his lips. He handed it to Lincoln and he did the same.

Across the lobby, Karen huffily hung up the phone and started typing on the computer. She looked like a little girl who'd had her hopes and dreams to pull the wings off two flies crushed. Johnny went over and laid his hands on the counter. "Did you call him?"

She didn't reply.

"Ma'am?"

Nothing.

Taking her sullen silence as a yes, Johnny smiled smugly and popped his collar. _That's what I thought, _he didn't say out loud. He turned on his heels and walked back to the soda machine, where Lincoln stood.

He wasn't alone.

Ronnie Anne Santiago, in a purple skirt with black horizontal stripes and a long sleeve purple shirt that bared her shoulders Sid style, stood before him, her arms crossed. She craned her neck to see the machine over his shoulder and a thoughtful look crossed her freckled face. "Hey, Ronnie," Johnny said guardly as he walked up.

"So it's you guys putting these old vending machines around town," she said without looking at him.

"Yep," Johnny said proudly, "that's us."

What she said next wiped the smile from his face. "I want a cut."

'Huh?"

She shrugged. "I want a cut. You guys are making money and I think I deserve some."

Johnny folded his arms sassily over his chest. "Yeah? For what? Me and Linc work hard for our profit. You haven't even done anything.'

"Protection," Ronnie Anne said. "Hire me to make sure nothing bad happens to one of your machines."

"We don't need it," Johnny said, "no one's ever bothered our stuff before."

Lincoln nodded. "It's a frivolous expense."

"Oh yeah?" Ronnie Anne asked. She brushed between them and went up to the machine. "What if someone did this?" She lashed out and hit the front of the dispenser with the heel of her palm, rocking the rig back and forth. "Or this?" She slammed her fist into the glass door; it didn't break but Johnny distinctly heard a cracking sound.

Backing up, Ronnie Anne kicked it. "Or this?"

Lincoln and Johnny came unfrozen. Yelling at her to stop (for the love of God, stop!), they grabbed her arms and pulled her back. "Are you crazy?" Johnny squealed.

"This is extortion," Lincoln said indignantly.

That earned an indifferent shrug from Ronnie Anne. "Eh. Whatever. You gonna pay me or what? I'd really hate to see one of your machines get torched."

Lincoln and Johnny looked at each other. Ronnie Anne wasn't just blowing hot air; she was crazy enough to actually do something. "Fine," Johnny sighed. He whipped his wallet out, removed a five dollar bill, and handed it to her. She looked at Lincoln, and slumping his shoulders, he reached into his pocket and came back with a wad of ones. He shoved them into Ronnie Anne's hands and she took them with a pleased grin.

"Nice doing business with you," she said, "losers."

With that, she shoved the money into her pocket and left through the automatic doors. She followed the walkway toward the employee parking lot, and when she was out of sight, Johnny let out a deep breath. "You should have told her no."

"Me?" Lincoln cried and slapped his chest. "She shook you down first. Why didn't _you _say no?"

"I was going to talk right after you," Johnny said. And that was true; if Lincoln bucked up, Johnny would have found the courage to do it too. But since he didn't buck up, Johnny was forced to keep still. "This is all your fault. Now we have to pay Ronnie Anne to keep from busting our vending machines. Thanks a lot." He slammed the heel of his palm into Lincoln's shoulder.

Lincoln's face darkened and he hit Johnny's shoulder back. Johnny almost dropped him, but stopped when someone cleared their throat. Karen shot daggers at them over her counter. Flashing a nervous smile, Johnny lifted his hand, then got out of there before she could bother his poor manager.

"We gotta find a way to get Ronnie off our backs," he said as he and Lincoln pedaled home.

"Yeah, but how?" Lincoln asked.

Johnny didn't have the answer to that...but he would find it one way or another.

Oh, yes he would.

* * *

Or not.

All Sunday afternoon, Johnny wracked his brain for a way to get rid of Ronnie Anne, but nothing he came up with stood a snowball's chance of working. That night, lying awake in bed, he considered just cutting to the chase and refusing to pay her. If he did that, though, she'd ruin his and Lincoln's vending machines. What then? They'd lose profit. It would be better just to give her a few bucks here and there than to go through the hassle of having her wreck their stuff. They'd either have to take it lying down or do something back. This way was easier.

He didn't like it, though.

The next morning, he woke to the alarm and took a shower, then dressed. Lincoln was waiting at the door, hopping impatiently from one foot to the other, and Johnny blocked the way. "What's the magic word?" he asked.

"I gotta pee."

"You gotta give me the -"

Lincoln reached into his underwear like he was going to take his thing out and pee on Johnny's shoes, and Johnny jumped out of the way. "Fine, jeez."

While Lincoln tinkled, Johnny pulled his shoes on, grabbed his backpack, and went downstairs. Mom stood at the stove, frying eggs and bacon, and Dad sat at the table with the morning paper and a cup of coffee.

After wolfing down their food, Johnny and Lincoln left the house and walked to school. The whole way, Johnny turned the Ronnie Anne situation over in his mind. He wasn't happy with having to fork over dough to her, but whatever. They could afford it.

Famous last words.

At lunch, he and Lincoln stood by Lincoln's open locker and waited for kids to come along and buy some sandwiches. Ronnie Anne came along instead. "You know selling food out of a locker is against the rules, right?"

Johnny genuinely laughed. "Since when do you care about rules?"

She crossed her arms, and he sobered. She was being serious. "I started caring when I decided I want a cut of this business too."

Lincoln and Johnny both gaped. "What?" Johnny blurted. "Dude, no."

"Alright," Ronnie Anne said, "I'mma just snitch on you then."

"You wouldn't," Lincoln challenged.

She narrowed her eyes. "Watch me."

Spinning on her heels, she marched down the hallway toward the office. Johnny gaped after her, then shook his head. If she told, Principal Bodner would shut him and Lincoln down. He'd probably even call Mom, who'd in turn tell Dad. If Dad found out they were hawking sandwiches from Lincoln's locker, he'd do to them what New Jack did to Mass Transit.

Johnny shuddered.

"Wait!"

Ronnie Anne stopped and turned around. "What are you doing?" Lincoln whispered.

"Saving our business," Johnny said through his teeth.

"Screw it, let her rat us out. I'd rather lose the gig than let her rob us."

Ignoring Lincoln, Johnny reached into his pocket and slipped out a crisp five dollar bill. He walked up to Ronnie Anne and held it out. "Here," he said, "that's all I have on me."

Her eyes darted between his face and the bill. She took the money and pocketed it, then looked at Lincoln. "What'cha got for me, lame-o?"

Lincoln's face settled into a glower. Johnny shot him a dirty look and jerked his chin at Ronnie Anne. _Come here and give her your money. _Lincoln took a deep breath, came over, and dug a five from his pocket. "Here," he said sourly.

Ronnie Anne took it. "Pleasure doing business with you."

She turned and walked away.

"This is getting ridiculous," Lincoln grumbled. "Next she'll take the shoes off our feet."

Johnny sighed. Lincoln was right but what could they do? She had them in the corner like Ric Flair screaming on some jobber. What could they do about it? If they said no, she'd make their lives a living hell.

They'd just have to go along with it.

And go along with it they did. Every day for a week, they handed over a percentage of their profits to Ronnie Anne. On Thursday, she upped her take from five a piece to ten. On Friday, she asked for extra because "I got stuff to buy." On Saturday, she accompanied them as they went around Royal Woods and serviced their vending machines. On Monday, she increased her share again. Lincoln had finally had enough and put his foot down. Johnny wasn't there when it happened and Lincoln didn't tell him until they were on their way home from school. "Dude," he said, "she's gonna do something now."

"No she won't," Lincoln said, "I think I really stuck it to her."

Two hours later, Johnny got a text.

It was a picture.

The snack machine they installed next to the bathrooms at the park lay on its side, broken and covered in dents. A baseball bat jutted from its plastic face and baggies of chips and trail mix littered the ground. "I was taking a walk and I found this," the accompanying text said, "this is why you have to pay me protection. People out here are loco."

Johnny pursed his lips and showed the picture to Lincoln. "Good job, Stinkcoln. You got one of our units destroyed."

"SHE'S ROBBING US BLIND!" Lincoln screamed and waved his arms. "Dude, she's taken 48.4 percent of our profit this week."

Johnny winced. "Ouch. That much?"

"YES!"

He sighed.

This couldn't go on.

Maybe if they talked to Ronnie Anne she'd…

No, that probably wouldn't work.

Perhaps they just had to square up. If she wrecked their machines, they'd just have to hit back the way they did when the Loud girls did something messed up. "Just...give me some time to think," he said.

"What's there to think about?" Lincoln asked.

Johnny didn't know, he honestly didn't.

For the rest of that week, things went on as they had: Ronnie Anne came around at lunch time to collect and they begrudgingly paid their ransom. On Friday night, Johnny sat defeatedly on the edge of his bed and drew a deep breath. "Tomorrow," he said, "we're gonna fix this tomorrow."

"How?" Lincoln asked over his shoulder. He sat at the PC.

"I have an idea," Johnny said, "it might take some time but I think it'll pay off."

Lincoln turned in his chair. "What is it?" he pressed.

"Alright," Johnny said and leaned in, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "We know Ronnie's a crook, right? We follow her around, wait for her to do something wrong, and take pictures. Then we tell her to back off or we'll show her mom."

A devilish grin crept across Lincoln's face. "I like the way you think."

Johnny tapped his temple.

Always thinking, Linc.

Always thinking.

* * *

Saturday morning, Lincoln and Johnny rode their bikes to Central, then crossed it and followed Watts Ave to Ronnie Anne's building, a three story apartment block wedged between a stand of pine trees and a cyclone fence overlooking I-13. A group of black kids a little older than Lincoln and Johnny packed a nearby basketball court, and a gang of children chased each other and climbed over rusted playground equipment. A couple guys stood by a crappy Honda with chrome spinners, and bass heavy rap music drifted from the open doors, N-word this and cappin' people that. Lincoln and Johnny parked across the street and hid themselves behind a pine tree as best they could. "I hope no one gets suspicious," Johnny said, "two white dudes scoping the place out will look pretty bad."

"You're the only white boy here," Lincoln said.

Johnny rolled his eyes. ''Look at my skin."

"You're black the same way Issac Yankem was a dentist."

Okay, that was uncalled for. Listen here, you -"

Lincoln perked up. "Shhh, here she comes."

Ronnie Anne came out of her apartment and started south, toward Central. Lincoln and Johnny waited, then followed at a distance. Johnny fumbled for his phone and opened the camera app.

Alright, RA, let's see what kind of crimes you commit today.

Her first stop was a corner store, where she bought a fountain drink. Next, she hit up a pharmacy. Johnny left Lincoln outside and went in after her. He grabbed a magazine to hide his face. She stood in line at the counter, then when her turn came, the pharmacist greeted her by name. "I'm here for mom's medication," she said.

"Alright," the pharmacist said. He handed her a bag. "That'll be ten dollars."

Ronnie Anne paid and left, passing Johnny.

After the pharmacy, she went into a Save-A-Lot on Central. Lincoln and Johnny crouched behind a cart carousel in the parking lot and watched the front of the store, Johnny almost certain she was gonna knock the place over. Instead, she came out clutching bags of groceries. She came their way, and they ducked down. She passed by and Johnny tracked her with his eyes. "What's she up to?" he wondered aloud.

Her final stop of the morning was at a florist stop, where she bought a bouquet of flowers. After that, she walked home, so weighed down by her many purchases that she shuffled, stumbled, and staggered. When she got back to her building, she sat it all down and fished her key out of her pocket. She picked her stuff up again, went inside, and closed the door with her foot.

Huh. Johnny was _sure _she'd do something messed up, like kick a puppy or mug an old lady. Instead, she bought food and medicine. Even bullies need those things, but something smelled fishy here and he was going to get to the bottom of it.

Leaning his bike against a tree trunk, he gestured for Lincoln to follow. They crossed the street, ran around the side of the building, and found the window looking into Ronnie Anne's dining room. They knelt in the grass and waited a moment, then peeked over the sill.

Inside, Ronnie Anne's mom sat at a table, bills fanned out in front of her. Strands of her black hair stuck out at harried angles and dark bags hung beneath her tired eyes. She massaged her temples with her fingertips and let out a deep sigh. She was the picture of worry.

Ronnie Anne came in and sat the groceries on the counter. "Hi, Mom," she said.

Her mother looked up at her and donned a puzzled frown. "What's this?" she asked, as though she'd never seen grocery bags before.

"I went shopping," Ronnie Anne said. "I also picked up your medication"

Mrs. Santiago's confusion deepend. "With what money?"

"My money," Ronnie Anne said simply.

She turned, walked up to the table, and presented the flowers to her mother. "I got these too. Your favorite."

Mrs. Santiago smiled and took them. "You shouldn't have. I was going to go to the food bank."

"It's fine," Ronnie Anne said, "I wanted to. You do so much, it's only fair I do something in return."

Her mother hugged her and Ronnie Anne hugged her back tightly. Tears dribbled down her mother's cheeks and she looked like she was going to break down crying. "You shouldn't have to use your own money for these things," she said.

"And you shouldn't have to work twelve hours a day and still not have enough to pay all our bills," Ronnie Anne said. "But you do it anyway."

"Things will get better," Mrs. Santiago promised. "The first of the month is always the hardest."

Ronnie Anne patted her mom's back. "I know. We'll get through it."

Despite the boldness of her declaration, there was a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

Lincoln and Johnny ducked down and sat side-by-side on the ground, processing what they had just witnessed. On the way home and for the rest of the day, Johnny ran the scene again and again through his mind.

From that point forward, neither he nor Lincoln ever complained about paying Ronnie Anne again.


	12. Ready to Bumble

For as long as Lincoln could remember, pro wrestling was part of his life...like an ugly mole or a terrible deformity. His father grew up in the nineties, when wrestling was considered half way cool, and even though he did, in fact, grow up, he never lost his affinity for the...well, Lincoln couldn't call it a sport...or a game...for the, uh, hustle?

See, wrestling is fake. The guys in the ring aren't really beating each other up, they're working together to put on a high flying acrobatics show masquerading as a competitive match. The outcome is predetermined, the moves are scripted and choreographed, and all of the epic trash talking on the mic is rehearsed beforehand so that it doesn't sound too fake.

Lincoln didn't understand wrestling. Like...why? What was the point?

That wasn't a question he entertained often, though. He joked, memed, and clowned on wrestling, but that was it.

Until that fateful day in May.

He was fixing his bike in the garage when it happened. Maggie, his girlfriend, sat on the work bench against the wall with her hands splayed on either side of her and Johnny rummaged through the chest freezer looking for a frozen leg of lamb Dad swore was in there. Maggie kicked her legs back and forth and watched Lincoln work, her lips scrunched to one side. "Are you going to be done soon?" she asked.

Ugh, woman, amirite? Always with that nagging stuff. "Almost," he said. He reached for the wrench, and a foot came down on his hand, pinning it to the concrete floor. He let out a strangled yelp, more of surprise than pain, and whipped his head up.

Ronnie Anne Santiago loomed over him, big as life and twice as ugly. The lighting was just right that a dark shadow fell across her face, and her brown eyes narrowed to sadistic slits. Her slimy pink tongue darted lizard-like from her mouth and swiped across her chapped bottom lip; she put pressure on his hand, and he could sense that it was taking everything she had not to crush it beneath her shoe like a troublesome little bug.

Johnny slammed the freezer closed and turned around, a smile on his face and a frozen slab of lamb in his mits. ''I found the -" his words cut off in a girlish squeal of alarm and the meat fell from his hands, landing on the pavement with a sharp crack. Maggie looked up from her feet, saw what was happening, and narrowed her eyes.

"Hey," she called, "what are you doing to my boyfriend?"

"Can it, goth," Ronnie Anne said, "I can do what I want, I'm his best friend."

She let up a little, and Lincoln yanked his hand out, cradling it to his chest with a pained hiss. "No you're not," he said through his teeth.

"Second best," Ronnie Anne said with a shrug.

"No," Johnny said, "that's Sid."

"Or Stella," Lincoln said, "it depends."

Ronnie Anne rolled her eyes. "I'm in the top five."

"That's up for debate," Johnny said.

A dark shadow flickered across Ronnie Anne's face and her features hardened. Johnny flashed a nervous smile. "Okay, you're in the top five."

Ignoring him, Ronnie Anne said, "I need you bozos to help me with something."

Not too long ago, Ronnie Anne muscled in on Lincoln and Johnny's soda machine repair business and their sandwich hustle. She took almost half of their weekly profits, and Lincoln and Johnny let her because her family was poor and she needed the money more than they did; they were gonna blow it on video games and stuff while she was going grocery shopping with it. Lincoln was willing to put up with handing her part of his bankroll twice a week, but being drafted at random to play slave was where he drew the line.

"What?" Johnny asked.

Ronnie Anne looked pointedly at Maggie. "It's private."

She and Maggie stared each other down like two junkyard dogs getting ready to scrap, then Maggie slid off the bench and got to her feet. "I'm gonna go," she said.

"Wait," Lincoln started.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said. She brushed past Ronnie Anne and disappeared through the open roll top door.

Lincoln sighed and hanged his head. He hoped she wasn't upset with him. He snapped his head up and fixed Ronnie Anne with a withering glare. "What do you want?" he asked.

"You two bozos like wrestling, right?"

Lincoln gagged and Johnny pressed his hand to his mouth, cheeks puffing out with imaginary vomit. "Of all the insults you've ever hurled at us," Lincoln said, "insinuating that we like that crap is the most offensive."

"Shut up," Ronnie Anne said. "Anyway, there's a WWE-sponsored junior tournament in Great Lakes City tomorrow. The grand prize is getting to meet and spend the day with La Tormenta." She whipped out a glossy 6 by 8 photo of a Hispanic woman in a greenish blue singlet with a lightning bolt on the chest and a luchador mask: Her hands were on her hips and she stared off to one side with a defiant expression, as though challenging her opponents to beat her. Or challenging the booker to have them beat her, since wrestling is fake.

A dreamy haze crept into Ronnie Anne's eyes. "La Tormenta is my hero and getting to meet her would be the greatest thing to ever happen to me."

Johnny and Lincoln exchanged a queasy glance. "What's that have to do with us?" Johnny asked.

"I need two partners," she said, "and those partners are you."

The way the tournament worked, Ronnie Anne explained, was that teams of three would duke it out in a series of matches, and the one that emerged victorious would get to spend a day with La Tormenta.

"No," Lincoln and Johnny said in unison.

To their surprise, Ronnie Anne dropped to her knees and balled her hands. "Please. This means so much to me. La Tormenta is my idol, I look up to her and wanna be like her so bad. I'd do anything. Anything."

Lincoln and Johnny looked at each other, both thinking the same thing. "Alright," Lincoln said, "we'll do it."

"You will?" she asked hopefully.

"Under one condition," Johnny said and held up his index finger.

Ronnie Anne's eyes darted nervously between them, "What?"

"Instead of taking 47.9 percent of our earnings every week," Lincoln said, "you start taking only 5."

"5?"

Lincoln crossed his arms. "Those are our terms."

"Yeah," Johnny echoed, "take it or leave it, sister."

For a long time, Ronnie Anne mulled over their proposition. "Fine," she said.

"I guess we're going to wrestle," Lincoln said.

No sooner had he spoken, the connecting door to the house exploded open with a loud crash, and all three of them jumped in fright. Lincoln and Johnny's father stood in the doorway, clad in a pair of slacks and a crusty wife beater. Lincoln's first thought was that he and Johnny had somehow transgressed and were in trouble...then he got a load of the old man's giddy expression. "Did someone say...wrestling?"

* * *

The next day at noon sharp, Lincoln, Johnny, their Dad, and Ronnie Anne arrived at the Great Lakes City Convention Center, a great dome-shaped building wedged between the river and an interstate overpass. Lincoln, clad in baggy jean shorts, fresh white kicks, and a sideways hat, wore a chain around his neck and a watch on his left hand. He tried to come up with an original gimmick but everything he dreamed up sucked, so decided to basically be John Cena and call himself Chain Linc. Johnny was dressed as what can be described as a fire tiger and demanded to be called The Great Gonzalez. He walked with a mocking, bad-guy strut and did his best impression of Randy Savage when he spoke. "Ooooh yeah," he said as they approached the main door, "snap into a Slim Jim."

Ronnie Anne wore a purple jumpsuit and luchador mask with an intricate design.

Then there was Dad.

Dressed in slacks and a green blazer over a red button-up accented by a canary yellow tie, he rested the business end of a tennis racket in the hollow between his neck and his shoulder. He insisted on being their "manager" even though Lincoln doubted they'd need one.

At the main door, a big guy in a black T-shirt emblazoned with SECURITY directed them to a side entrance marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. Another bouncer checked their papers. "You can't come in," he said to Dad.

"What do you mean I can't come in?" Dad asked.

"You don't have papers."

Dad got in his face. "Listen here, you pig-faced motherlover, I'm gonna go through that door, I'm gonna march right up to that ring, and I'm gonna manage the 11'o'Clock Express right into victory, and no bald-headed, bucked tooth, squinty-eyed Bugs Bunny lookin butt-hole with bad breath is gonna stop me."

The bouncer looked at Ronnie Anne. "He's my manager," she sighed, then, under her breath, "unfortunately."

"Fine."

"Oh yeah," Johnny said, "that's what I thought, brother."

He went in, followed by Ronnie Anne and Lincoln. Dad stopped and looked the bouncer up and down. "Thank you, forget you, bye."

Inside, a stagehand led them to the locker room. Dad looked around with the wonderment of a small boy, and Lincoln did his best to keep up his tough guy act even though he felt like an idiot.

Five minutes later, while Dad was in the john, a lanky guy with a graying black beard came in holding a clipboard. Lincoln, Ronnie Anne, and Johnny were sitting on a bench and lacing their boots up when he entered and stood over them. "Alright," he said in a thick New York accent, "you guys go on in five, bro."

"How does this work?" Lincoln asked.

The guy looked at him like he was a moron. "You get in the ring, bro, and you wrestle, bro, that's how it goes, bro."

Lincoln rolled his eyes. "Dude, my dad's a huge mark, I'm smart to the business. Just tell me what to do, I know it's a work."

"Not anymore, bro, this is a legit shoot fight, bro."

Lincoln's smile fell. "Wait, what?"

Wrestling was fake and always had been. The winner of every match was predetermined and so, too, were all the moves. The guys battling in the ring rehearsed their spots beforehand. When they were in the ring, they worked together to put on a show and to ensure each other's safety. Sometimes, guys got mad at each other during their matches and really started to fight, but that happened only rarely and was a major offense. You're literally putting your life in the other guy's hands so stuff, like blowing spots or intentionally hurting your opponent, were taken seriously. There was no way the WWE would allow untrained people to get into one of its rings and really beat each other up.

"So...it's like the Brawl for All?" Johnny asked.

The guy smirked. "Exactly, bro."

"But -" Lincoln cut off when the guy strode out.

Okay then.

"You bozos better not blow this for me," Ronnie Anne said and got to her feet.

Five minutes later, they made their way to the ring with Dad. Ranks of seats, many empty, swept back from ringside and a couple randos sat at an announce table facing the ramp. Lincoln, Johnny, and Ronnie Anne climbed through the ropes while Dad stayed on the outside. Living up to his gimmick, Lincoln went over to one the posts, jumped up onto the second rope, and threw his arms over his head to muted applause. Johnny made rude gestures to the audience, and, like, two people booed him. Ronnie Anne crossed her arms and cocked her hip.

She didn't have long to wait before the opposing team came out.

Lincoln recognized them instantly.

Lynn Loud wore a red leotard with a single strap over one shoulder and black boots; Lana wore a green bodysuit with a lizard head, and Lola wore pink tights, a crown, and a queenly pink cloak.

Great.

The three toughest Loud girls.

"Alright," Ronnie Anne said, "I have Lynn. Johnny, you take Lana, Lincoln, you go for Lola."

The Louds got into the ring and they faced each other. The ref stood between them and motioned for the timekeeper to ring the bell.

Ding.

Ronnie Anne sprang at Lynn and they locked up, Lana speared Johnny and drove him back, and Lincoln hesitated. Could he really beat up a little - ?

Letting out a cry of primal fury, Lola threw herself at him. She hit him in the legs and he went down with a breathless oof. Acting fast, he rolled her off, got to his knees, and wrenched her arm behind her back. She howled in pain, and Lincoln planted his knee between her shoulder blades. Lana jumped off the top rope and came down on a screaming Johnny, and Lynn had Ronnie Anne in a sleeper hold. The ref danced around from one pair to the next, and Dad paced anxiously back and forth, pausing only to slap the ring and shout orders. Lola threw her head back and hit Lincoln in the chin, stunning him. She yanked out of his grasp, spun, and kicked him in the chest, knocking him over. Pain flared through him like a bomb blast and he curled up. "Come on, son!" Dad yelled.

Across the ring, Ronnie Anne flung Lynn over her shoulder and dropped a big elbow on her face. Johnny whipped Lana into the ropes, and Dad grabbed her foot. She yanked away, turned, and kicked at him. She poked her head through the ropes and yelled at him, and he waved her dismissively off.

Ronnie Anne grabbed Lynn around the neck, threw Lynn's arm over her shoulder, and gave her a chokeslam that made the mat bounce. Lola kicked Lincoln in the shin, and when he doubled over, she drove her knee into his forehead.

While Lana's back was still turned, Johnny ran over and rolled her up for the pin. The ref dropped to his stomach and slappd the mat.

One.

Two.

Lana kicked, thrashed, and wiggled, but her shoulders never left the mat.

Three.

Ding, ding, ding.

Johnny jumped to his feet and pounded his chest in celebration. Lynn got to her hands and knees, back rising and falling, and caught her breath. Lola looked around in shock and spotted Lana lying on her back. Her eyes narrowed, and leaving Lincoln alone, she stalked over and dragged her twin to her feet.

"You lost us the match!"

Lynn staggered to her feet. "Maybe if you actually helped."

Now all three Loud girls were arguing and blaming each other. The ref led them away from the ring, and Lynn shot a hateful look over her shoulder. "You three are dead meat."

"Go on!" Dad yelled and gestured up the ramp with his racket. "Get those losers out of here. Next opponent."

In the ring, Lincoln rolled his neck and squared his shoulders.

When he saw who was next, he sagged.

Hank and Hawk, two of the biggest guys in school, came down the ramp in leather, face paint, and mohawks. Chandler walked between them, a smug expression on his face. He wore a bowtie and a glittery black suit coat with wide lapels embroidered with dollar signs. He stopped, leaned over the metal barricade holding the audience back, and threw a random twenty dollar bill at someone. "Don't spend it all in one place," he said and winked.

Hank and Hawk climbed in and Chandler jumped up onto the apron, but didn't enter the ring. Johnny gulped and Ronnie Anne shifted nervously from one foot to the other other. Lincoln's mind raced and his muscles twitched; he was this close to dipping out.

The bell rang, and Hank and Hawk grinned evilly. "Hey," Lincoln called to the ref, "what about him?" He nodded to Chandler.

"The rules don't say I have to actually wrestle," Chandler scoffed. "I'll let my hired hands do that for me then reap the benefits." He threw his head back and laughed.

Before Lincoln could register what was happening, Hawk's hand closed around his throat, cutting off his air supply. The giant hoisted him off his feet and lifted him high above the mat. Ronnie Anne had somehow gotten onto Hank's shoulders like a cowgirl mounted on horseback and battered the back of his skull with a flurry of punches. Johnny bent at the waist and rammed his shoulder into the big man's midsection in an attempt to upset his balance. Hank planted his feet in the mat and reached behind him to grab Ronnie Anne. Johnny punched him in the stomach, but the titan barely seemed to notice.

Hawk tightened his hold on Lincoln's throat. Lincoln kicked and tried to free himself but he was starting to get lightheaded. Just before he passed out, Hawk spun and slammed him to the mat. Stars burst across Lincoln's vision and his lungs throbbed hotly. Hawk went to pick him up again, and coming alive, Lincoln punched him in the face. He cried out and staggered back, giving Lincoln just enough time to get to his feet and attack. He chopped him hard across the chest, doing more damage to himself than to Hawk, and followed up with a kick to the knee. Hawk shoved him back and charged, and Lincoln ducked out of the way.

Hank spun in circles trying to get Ronnie Anne off, but she clung to him like an angry cat. He finally threw himself to the mat and her hold broke. Johnny slingshotted into the rope and then jumped, landing across Hank in a sloppy frog splash. Lincoln ducked Hawk again and ran around the ring, trying and failing to come up with a battle plan. Dad was on the apron now, gesturing wildly and shaking the racket. Johnny hooked Hank's leg and pinned him, and the ref dropped for the count, but only made it to two before Hank kicked out.

Something his father said in the locker room came back to him. If you're in trouble, he said, distract the ref.

He ran over and put the ref between him and Hawk. "Don't let him kill me," Lincoln said and hugged him.

"Get off of me, kid."

He leaned over to see what Hawk was doing. Just as he'd hoped, he was approaching the apron, where Dad's mouth ran a mile a minute, every sort of insult, jab, and cross word spewing out in an inventive and NSFW torrent of trash. "If it was rainin' soup, you'd be outside with a fork, you big, dumb idiot. You're so dumb, you stayed up all night studying for a urine test."

Hawk growled, and Lincoln hugged the ref tighter. "Please, I'm so scared."

"You're so dumb it takes you an hour and a half to watch 60 Minutes." As he spoke, he dug something out of his coat pocket. Hawk, growling like the giant beast he was, lunged at Dad. Lincoln didn't see what happened, but a moment later, Hawk was lying spread eagle on the mat, eyes closed and arms splayed out. Dad jumped down and hurried away, and on the opposite side of the ring, Chandler yelled at the ref and pointed to the fallen beast. Lincoln let the ref go, ran over to Hawk, and covered him.

The ref dropped to his stomach and slapped the mat.

One.

Two.

Three.

DING, DING, DING.

Lincoln jumped to his feet. He did it. HE DID IT! The ref grabbed his hand and lifted his arm above his head, and a big, stupid grin plastered Lincoln's face. He yanked away, stood over Hawk's fallen form, and waved his open palm in front of his own face. "YOU CAN'T SEE ME!"

Pouting like a sullen child who didn't get its wish, Chandler led his defeated tag team into the back, berating them the whole time. Hank and Hawk simply hung their heads in shame and took it.

As soon as they were gone, the next opponent streaked down the entrance ramp like a shot and hit the ring so fast Lincoln didn't know whether to wind his butt or fall on his watch. They (he couldn't tell if it was a he or a she) popped to their feet and launched at Johnny so quick that he was crumpled on the floor and moaning two seconds before he realized he'd be beat. Next, they hit Ronnie Anne, and she fell to the mat like a sack of broken maracas. They turned to Lincoln and his heart dropped into his stomach. She (for this monster was a girl) fixed him with a wicked, gap-toothed smile. Fire burned in her brown eyes and her blonde hair, pulled up in a standing ponytail, was damp with sweat. Her red and yellow tights blazed like hellfire, and her shoulders rose and fell, rose and fell, lending her the appearance of a beast facing down its prey.

Nope.

Lincoln wheeled around and fled. He made it to the ropes but the girl was on him like liberal on Twitter. She locked her arms around his waist and threw herself back in a perfect belly to back suplex. Lincoln's life flashed before his eyes, then his shoulders connected with the mat and pain exploded in his skull.

The girl jumped up, ran over to Johnny who had made it to his hands and knees, and punched him, knocking him over again. She went to Ronnie Anne, who was on her feet now, and punched her too, sending her to the mat. Dad climbed up onto the apron and shouted something at her, and the next thing Lincoln knew, she was at the rope and clocking him in the jaw. The racket fell from his hand and he started to follow. He shot his arm out and tried to catch the top rope, but missed and plummeted to the floor.

Screaming, the girl grabbed the rope, pulled back as far as she could, and shook her head from side to side like a wild animal. Lincoln resolved to stay down, where it was safe, but Johnny stupidly staggered to his feet and went at her. He was almost to her when she spun, pivoted on one foot, and kicked Johnny in the chin like her name was Shawn Michaels. Johnny went limp and dropped to the mat, dead or close to it. Ronnie Anne was up now, and the girl charged her like a raging bull. Ronnie Anne ducked at the last second, and the girl collided with the ref; he flew back, hit the ropes, and fainted dead away.

Fun fact: Pro wrestling refs are the weakest creatures on the face of the earth. One poke and they shatter like a pane of glass.

Ronnie Anne and the girl locked up, then Ronnie Anne slung her into the ropes and hit her with a flying clothesline. She went down, but was back up in an instant. Lincoln rolled to his stomach and commando crawled to Johnny. He shook his arm. "Hey," he said, "you okay?"

Johnny snored.

The girl picked Ronnie Anne up and body slammed her, then pinned her.

The ref was out cold.

Dad fumbled his way through the ropes and ran over.

When Lincoln saw what he was holding, he froze.

A steel chair.

He started to call out (No, Dad, for the love of God, no!), but it was too late. He pulled the chair back and let fly. It hit the girl square on the head with a flat whump and the life ran out of her. "Yeah!" Dad yelled. He threw the chair out of the ring, grabbed Ronnie Anne's lifeless carcass, and draped her over the girl. Next, he grabbed the ref by the back of his shirt, dragged him over, and yelled at him to wake up. Weakly, feebly, the ref slapped the mat.

One.

Pause.

Two.

Pause.

Three.

DING, DING, DING.

Dad jumped up and down in jubilation, and Lincoln grabbed the rope and struggled to a standing position. Ronnie Anne rolled off of the girl, sat up, and rubbed the back of her head. Johnny had somehow wound up on his stomach with his knees drawn under him and his face in the mat. Lincoln pulled him to his feet and slapped him a couple times. "What happened?"

"We got our butts kicked."

"Did we lose?"

"No," Lincoln said, "Dad went full Attitude Era and hit her with a chair."

The girl revived, sat up, and looked around, the bitter disappointment on her face almost enough to negate the fact that she had just demolished Lincoln and almost everyone he cared about. She got up, rubbed her head, and slunk away.

A black suited ring announcer appeared next to Dad, a microphone in his hand. "And now...for tonight's main event…"

Lincoln blinked. It was almost over. They were one match away from winning.

"A three on one handicap match. The 11'0-Clock Express vs…"

The lights dimmed and eerie mist filled the entranceway. A form appeared in the fog, and pyrotechnics exploded on either side of the runway. Ronnie Anne's jaw fell open and Dad shook his head in denial. "No," he said, "it can't be."

"Who?" Lincoln asked.

"No way," Dad said, "no way."

"WHO, MAN?" Johnny cried.

The mist cleared and the crowd went wild.

"La Tormenta!" the announcer cried into the mic.

Lincoln sputtered. What? A real wrestler?

It couldn't be.

Yet there she was making her way to the ring with a championship belt around her waist, a stocky Hispanic woman in teal tights, white boots, and a mask. Ronnie Anne quivered in wonder like a Christian in the presence of Jesus and Johnny swallowed hard. La Tormenta climbed through the ropes and walked, her hands planted on her ample hips. She sized them up, then handed the belt to the ref. "This shouldn't take long," she said.

The bell rang, and La Tormenta rolled her neck. Lincoln backed away slowly, but Dad...poor Dad. "I'm a really big fan," he said and took a tentative step toward her, "I -"

La Tormenta threw herself back into the ropes and shot forward. She speared Dad Goldberg style and he hit the mat hard, losing consciousness. La Tormenta got up and fixed her gaze on Johnny. He broke and ran away. Next, she turned to Lincoln.

Yeah, forget this.

He dove through the ropes and landed on the padded floor.

Ronnie Anne was alone.

La Tormenta walked up to her and stared down at her. "How old are you?" she asked.

"Uh...eleven."

"Hm. I've never beaten up an eleven year old before."

With that, she picked Ronnie Anne up, spun her around, and power slammed her to the mat. Lincoln winced and Johnny turned away. "I can't watch."

La Tormenta got to her feet, grabbed Ronnie Anne, and set her up for a piledriver. Lincoln squeezed his eyes closed, but the sounds of Ronnie Anne being totally decimated painted a chilling picture on the backs of his eyelids. He creaked one eye open just as Ronnie Anne jumped off the top rope. La Tormenta snatched her out of the air and threw her to the mat in a sick power bomb. She pinned, but Ronnie Anne kicked immediately out. She dragged Ronnie Anne to her feet, and they locked up.

For what seemed like an eternity, they grappled, Ronnie Anne pushing La Tormenta back and La Tormenta pushing her back. Both women planted their feet and strained to knock the other off balance. Breaking out of the lock, La Tormenta grabbed Ronnie Anne in a DDT, but Ronnie Anne flipped and reversed it like a Latina Missy Elliot. La Tormenta hit the mat on her stomach, and Ronnie Anne dropped her knees on La Tormenta's arm, making her jump and writhe. Ronnie Anne swung one leg over La Tormenta and applied a devastating crippler crossface that made Chris Benoit smile down in hell.

The ref bent down in front of them and La Tormenta shook her head. No, I'm not tapping. Ronnie Anne increased the pressure, and La Tormenta tried to get up but failed. Finally, she swatted the air, and the ref pointed at the timekeeper.

DING, DING, DING.

Lincoln gaped.

They did it.

"We won!" Johnny yelled and jumped up and down.

Ronnie Anne let go and got to her feet. La Tormenta lay on her stomach, fighting to breathe, then rolled over. Ronnie Anne knelt next to her to see if she was okay, and La Tormenta sat up. She looked at Ronnie Anne...then thrust out her hand. "Good match."

They shook.

"You're my hero," Ronnie Anne gushed. "I have all your posters on my walls, and your action figures, and your DVDs, oh, I even have the record you did. I wanna be just like you when I grow up."

La Tormenta smiled. "You're already on your way."

Ronnie Anne helped her up and La Tormenta raised Ronnie Anne's hand. "Are you hungry? I could go for some lunch.'

"Me too," Ronnie Anne said. "I'll even pay."

La Tormenta laughed. "We'll put it on Vince's tab. How about that?"

The two opponents turned friends left the ring and disappeared into the back. "Well," Lincoln said, "it's nice to see Ronnie happy."

"And it's nice to see her cut go down to five percent."

They both looked at the ring. Dad lay flat on his back and the ref stood over him looking lost. "We better get him out of there."

That day, they wrestled four matches and came out full of cuts, bruises, aches, and pains, but nothing - nothing - about their stint as wrestlers was as gruelling as dragging their 300 pound father into the locker room.

Except for being surrounded by Hawk, Hank, Chandler, Lynn, Lana, Lola, and the wild girl and beaten to a pulp for cheating.

That was really, really grueling.

And painful.

THE END.


	13. Roughing It

Johnny liked money. Making money, holding money, smelling money, he even liked losing money because, hey, at least it meant he had some to lose. He and his brother Lincoln were always coming up with new ways of getting their hands on cash, sometimes working together and sometimes on their own. One of Johnny's personal hustles was betting on Dreamboat, a cheesy, dating based reality show set on a cruise ship. Every season, ten men (or ten women) vied for the affection of one woman (or man, or transexual, or, to quote Jim Cornette, animal, vegetable, or mineral). Each week, one lovelorn sad sack was voted off until the season finale.

Every Thursday night, he and Lincoln moseyed on over to the Loud house and watched Dreamboat with the Loud girls. They were huge fans and also extremely competitive, which made them bigger marks than Meltzer and Alvarez. All you had to do was trash talk their favorite guy a little, then hit them with I bet he'll lose. They would get mad, put up five or ten bucks, and boom, there you go. Last season, Johnny won fifty dollars from the Louds, and the season before that, it was almost seventy.

Lincoln never placed bets on Dreamboat, he just watched it for dating advice; since it was such a huge hit with women, he figured he could learn something from it. Maybe he did, Johnny didn't know; Maggie hadn't dumped him yet, so at the very least it wasn't hurting.

Anyway, on a rainy Thursday night in May, Johnny and Lincoln sat on the Louds' couch with Lori, Leni, Luna, blah blah blah for a new episode of Dreamboat. Johnny had ten bucks riding on Brandon, the hunky farmhand from Iowa, and Lincoln jotted down notes like a kid in second period chemistry..and brother, notes counted toward your grade.

Five minutes after the show started, Mr. Loud came in from the kitchen in a frilly pink apron and oven mitts, a tray of cookies in his hands. He flitted across the room and sat them on the coffee table. Johnny raised his eyebrow and pursed his lips. Maybe he was old school or something, but...really, buddy? Look, it was 2020, there was nothing wrong with dudes cooking, cleaning, and doing other "feminine" things, but once you start wearing pink aprons, it gets to be a little much.

"Cookies are done," he sang.

Johnny couldn't help himself. "Thanks, Mrs. Loud. I mean Mr. Loud."

The girls giggled, snorted, and chuckled. Mr. Loud started to say you're welcome, then realized that Johnny's slip was intentional. "And what's that supposed to mean, young man?"

"Dude, you're wearing a pink apron, come on," Johnny said. "Look at you, you're a bigger woman than your wife."

Mr. Loud's face darkened. "That is not true," he said. He put his hands on his hips and weaved his head sassily from side to side. "I am all man. Right, girls?"

"No," Lori sniffed.

Leni looked confused. "But you're one of the girls."

"I am not," Mr. Loud snapped. "I am very manly."

"You could have fooled me," Lola said.

"Yeah, Dad, you're not very manly," Lynn said, "sorry."

"I am," he whined.

"You are the least manly one here," Luna said.

Mr. Loud's face turned red. "That's not true...is it?" His hand fluttered limply to his chest and panic crept into his eyes. He started to hyperventilate as his fragile masculinity crumbled around him.

"You polish your fingernails and carry a purse," Lana pointed out.

"It's not a purse," Mr. Loud argued, "it's -"

"A totes cute handbag," Leni said. She was trying to help his case.

Mr. Loud let out a strangled sob, spun on his heels, and minced away. "I'm not a man!" he cried.

"That was pretty messed up," Lincoln said and shot Johnny daggers. "The guy made us cookies and you ripped his head off."

Johnny started to argue, but Lincoln was right, he did rip Mr. Loud's head off. He didn't mean to, honest, he was just kidding with him. He couldn't admit that out loud, though. "He shouldn't have come in here wearing a pink apron then."

"You're one to cricize someone's fashion sense with that retarded paper bag on your head." He flicked the bag with his finger, producing a sharp crinkling sound. "Maybe you can pull it down to cover up your ugly, heartless face."

That was it. Johnny lunged at Lincoln, and Lincoln met him halfway. They toppled off the couch and wound up rolling across the floor in a confusion of slaps, grunts, and kicks. In moments, Lynn, Lana, and Lori pulled them apart. Johnny's cheek stung from one of Lincoln's blows, and Lincoln's right eye swelled slightly closed, the flesh raised and purple. "That's enough," Lori commanded. "If you guys wanna get into a little pissy slap fight, do it at your house."

"I'm done," Lincoln said, "I wouldn't wanna rip his precious paper bag."

Johnny pulled against Lynn but she held tight.

"That's it," Lori said. She grabbed Lincoln by the ear and dragged him to the door. Lynn twisted Johnny's arm behind his back and marched him after like a POW. Lori opened the door and pushed Lincoln onto the porch, then stepped aside. Lynn shoved Johnny, and he stumbled over the threshold. "And stay out until you guys learn not to be such jackasses to each other."

"Look who's talking," Lincoln said archly.

Lori flipped him off and slammed the door, plunging them into darkness.

"Nice job, Linc," Johnny said.

"Shut up, this is your fault for roasting Mr. Loud. He's a nice dude and you and those loser daughters of his treat him like garbage."

Johnny sighed. "I'm sorry, okay? But he's the least manly guy in the world. It's just a fact."

'Yeah? And it's just a fact that you wet the bed as recently as six months ago. Should I put that on blast?"

"Alright," Johnny conceded, "okay, I see your point, it was wrong of me to do that, I'm sorry."

They were crossing the street now, their heads ducked against the rain. Water sluicded through the gutters and hissed on the pavement. A strong wind blew over them, and the trees swayed violently against its onslaught. A peal of thunder spread through the sack cloth sky and lightning crashed in the distance. By the time they got inside, Johnny's paper bag was sopping wet and starting to shred. When he tried to take it off, it tore into a million little pieces and he spent ten minutes plucking pieces of saturated paper out of his hair.

As he did so, he thought of what he said to Mr. Loud. Yeah, Lynn Sr.'s lack of manitude was kind of annoying, but he was a cool dude; he had always been kind to Johnny, and Johnny repaid him by making him run away crying.

Now he felt like total crap.

Eh, it was okay, though. Mr. Loud was a grown up.

He'd get over it.

* * *

Only he didn't.

Friday morning, Johnny loaded a cooler and fishing poles into the back of Dad's station wagon and slammed the hatch. Lincoln stood there with his pack at his feet and texted Maggie that he would be gone for the weekend.

See, one of Dad's favorite things besides pro wrestling and old school rap was camping. The guy lived for the outdoors and every weekend from May to October, he drove up to Meadow Lake in the rugged Huron Mountains where he owned a vacant parcel of land. Mainly, he went alone, but sometimes he brought the whole brood along. And every so often, he forced Lincoln and Johnny to come with. He called it "Father-son bonding time." Johnny called it "get sunburned and eaten by mosquitos time."

That morning, at breakfast, Dad informed them that they were going camping. "We leave as soon as we're done."

Johnny and Lincoln both tried to wiggle out of it, but Dad wouldn't take no for an answer, so here they were, Lincoln torn from Maggie's loving arms and Johnny torn from his beloved cat videos.

The front door opened and Dad came out. Picture this: A 300 pound black man dressed in khakis, a red plaid shirt, a desert tan vest with a thousand pockets, and a fishing hat boasting jigs and lures. In one hand was a tackle box and in the other a plastic WWE Monday Night Raw title belt. Johnny rolled his eyes. That belt was lame...not like his belt. He looked proudly down at it and patted the buckle. Selling for 99.99, the Ultimate Belt was the final word in belt-based survival technology. Sleek and stylish, it came equipped with the following:

Panic "HELP" button, shouts "Help" over and over

Central piece with radon/lie detector, holds a compass inside, and has two buttons with "LEFT/RIGHT" light indicators for turn signals

"Emergency Use Only" button, releases a "Call police" sign with parachute

Whistle attached to a retractable cord

Box holding a little saw (probably something else as well)

Sphygmomanometer

And turn signals, shaped like an arrow.

It was sick. Much better than Dad's dumb old fake replica of a fake title.

"You guys ready?" Dad asked as he stowed his rod and box in the back.

"Yep," Johnny said, "I -"

A familiar voice cut him off. "Hey."

He turned to see Lynn Sr. standing there and looking bashful. "What are you guys up to?"

"We're going camping," Dad said. "Two days of roughing it the wilderness like real men." He clapped Johnny's back and Johnny stumbled forward, almost going to his knees.

"Sounds...manly," Mr. Loud said.

Dad slammed the back door and leaned against the car. "It is. We fish. We hunt. Nothing like a little time in the wilderness to put some hair on your chest."

For a moment, Mr. Loud looked conflicted, then, in a meek, halting tone: "You...you think maybe I, uh, I could tag along?"

Johnny and Lincoln looked at each other. Say what?

"Sure," Dad said after a moment's thought, "why not? We've been living across the street for years and we barely know each other."

Mr. Loud's face lit up. "Let me get my gear."

He spun on his heels and sashayed off. When he was gone, Johnny looked up at his father, confused. "I thought this was a father/son bonding trip."

Before Dad could reply, Lincoln cut in: "So? Mr. Loud wants to go camping, let him go camping."

Johnny held his hands up, palms out. Alright, fine. He didn't have anything against taking Mr. Loud with them. Mr. Loud was great (if a little annoying). It just stuck him as a little...he didn't know...strange? Like Dad said, he and Mr. Loud barely knew each other and when you got right down to it, Lincoln and Johnny didn't know him all that well either. What kid hangs around with their friends' dad?

Oooh, he had the perfect analogy. It was like your teacher coming over to your house on a Saturday and hanging out on your couch. Up until the last year or so, Johnny was convinced that teachers were actually robots and went into a storage closet at the end of the day. On the rare occasions when he did see one out and about, he was blown so far away he needed two buses and a cab to get back.

But like Lincoln said, the guy wanted to camp, so...let him camp.

Fifteen minutes later, they left Royal Woods heading north on Route 10, Mr. Loud riding shotgun and looking giddy. He had changed out of his signature green sweater and into a yellow plaid shirt. He wore a Mailbiu's Most Wanted tier visor and his nose was pure white with sunscreen. His purse sat in his lap and Dad kept looking at it strangely. "This is gonna be great," Mr. Loud said, "hanging out with the guys...doing guy things...not a woman in sight. Yes siree, just us fellas. Alone. In the woods. With no one else around."

Dad laughed nervously. "You're not gonna hack us up into little pieces or anything, are you?" He tried to pass it off as a joke, but Johnny could tell he was half serious.

"Of course not," Mr. Loud said, "I'm just really looking forward to roughing it. Like a real man."

His voice broke on real.

Dad's land was 150 miles from downtown Royal Woods as the crow flies. North of Chippewa Falls, they jumped on 1-15 and followed it for half an hour. The terrain grew steeper and the brush more dense. Big, puffy white clouds sailed across the piercing blue sky, and the sun beat relentlessly down. They rolled the windows down and after a while, Mr. Loud began to fan himself with his hand. "You alright, Lynn?" Dad asked.

"Never better," Mr. Loud croaked.

"You want me to put on the A/C?"

Mr. Loud waved his hand. "Nah, real men don't need A/C."

Johnny begged to differ, but whatever. He whipped out his phone and opened his game library, eventually settling on Zombie Planet 6. Up front, Dad and Mr. Loud made small talk and Johnny did his best to tune them out. Dad put over "the spot" like a wrestling manager selling his client in a career defining promo, and Mr. Loud kept saying stuff about "real men".

Two hours after setting out, they turned onto a narrow dirt road that zigzagged through a stand of forest. The sun-dappled lake appeared through the trees and the land sloped down to the water's edge, the trees falling away and giving over to flat, grassy field before turning to dirt and sand at the shoreline. Dad put the car in park and killed the engine, dust disturbed by the tires shrouding the car like a cloud of deadly gas. "Well, here we are," Dad said, "you can cast a piece of string with a rock on it and get bites all day."

"I can't wait to get out there and catch some fish," Mr. Loud said and drove his fist into his palm.

"First, we gotta get set up."

They got out and fetched their things from the cargo hold. Because he got enough of being on top of Lincoln at home, Johnny had saved up and bought his own one man tent. He carried it over to a flat spot and dropped it, then went back for the cooler. Once everything was out of the car, Johnny sat his tent up and went to scour the area for firewood; they didn't need it right now, but he already knew Dad would send him and Lincoln off in search of it at some point, so why not get it out of the way?

When he got back, Mr. Loud knelt over a pile of canvas and plastic tent poles with a lost expression on his face. He flipped through the manual, gave a resolute nod, and started to set it up. On the other side of camp, Dad got to his feet, dusted his hands, and admired his handiwork: A big Coleman model tent with a canopy overhang, mesh windows, and a gables. Yes, gables. On a tent. It was pretty opulent. Dad blew almost 300 dollars on it.

Johnny carried the wood over and stacked it alongside the tent's western facing wall. To the left, Lincoln finished with his own tent, rocked back on his knees, and checked his phone. From the frustration on his face, there was no service. Meaning he couldn't talk to Maggie. Awww, poor baby.

A high pitched scream rose up and Johnny jumped. They turned, and Mr. Loud lay on his back, his limbs hopelessly tangled in his tent. He kicked, thrashed, and threw his head from side to side. "Help me!"

Holding onto his hat, Dad rushed over, sank to one knee, and unwrapped Mr. Loud like a Christmas present. Lincoln walked up and stood next to Johnny, neither speaking as the scene unfolded before them. Mr. Loud slithered out of the mess and dropped to his stomach, back rapidly rising and falling. Shudders raced through his body and a strangled sob hitched from his throat. "You alright?" Dad asked.

"That thing almost killed me," Mr. Loud sobbed.

Johnny rolled his eyes. What a drama queen.

To be fair, he lived with eleven women, so…

"Here," Dad said and helped him to his feet, "let me give you a hand."

Dad made short work of the tent, and when it was set up, Johnny sighed.

Pink.

It was pink.

And glittery.

"I haven't been camping in a while," Mr. Loud assured them, "so I had to borrow Lola's." The guilty inflection in his voice told Johnny that Mr. Loud had probably never been camping in his life; he was just too embarrassed to admit it.

"It's a nice tent," Lincoln said encouragingly. He waited for Johnny to offer his own compliment, and when he didn't, he jammed his elbow into Johnny's ribs.

"Fabulous," Johnny said, "I mean cute...I mean...very man-like."

Lincoln shot him a dirty look and he flashed a sheepish smile.

After making camp, Dad took Johnny, Lincoln, and Mr. Loud down to the lake. They followed the shore to a rocky peninsula jutting out into the water and sat in the shade of a big oak tree that blocked the worst of the sun's rays. Johnny reached into the tackle box, took out a styrofoam container filled with dirt, and plucked a fat worm from the soil. He curled it up and impaled it on his hook. Mr. Loud's face went white and his fist fluttered to his mouth; he looked like he was going to be sick.

He forced his eyes away and examined the pole lying across his lap as though he had never seen one before. Which he probably hadn't. He turned it over in his hands and regarded it with the puzzled frown of a man studying an alien relic. "You want some help, Mr. Loud?" Lincoln asked.

"No, I got it," Mr. Loud said.

The next time Johnny looked, however, it had him: Fishing line was bunched in his lap and the reel hung on by a thread. Dad looked back at him and furrowed his brow. "It's, uh, been a while," Mr. Loud said. "I kind of forgot what I'm doing."

Flushing with shame, he handed the pole to Dad, who set it to rights in moments flat, even baiting it with a plastic jig. Mr. Loud knew how to cast and reel in, Johnny would give him that, and in two minutes he had a fish. He pulled the pole back and hurriedly cranked it in, grunting and straining the whole time. With the fight it was putting up, it had to be a big one.

Yeah, no. When all was said and done, the fish was maybe eight inches long and barely as big around as Johnny's thumb. "I caught a fish!" Mr. Loud cried triumphantly. "I can't believe it, I caught a fish!"

"It's an anchovy," Johnny blurted.

Lincoln didn't like that. "Yeah? And where's yours?"

"Up your butt and around the corner," Johnny snapped.

Lincoln got to his feet and bucked up.

Bad movie.

"Sit down," Dad commanded.

Lincoln started, then dropped to his butt. Dad glared at him, and for a second, Johnny thought he was going to lose his only brother to an epic spanking. Shaking his head, Dad looked away and cast out. "Do your girls fight a lot, Lynn?"

"All the time," Mr. Loud said. "They're always bickering and fussing."

"You spank them?"

A look of horror crossed Mr. Loud's face. "No, God, I would never. Rita and I don't believe in spanking."

"Eh, there's nothing wrong with spanking. It sets boundaries and lets your kids know what happens when they cross the line."

After an hour, they packed up and headed back to camp. Dad ordered Lincoln and Johnny to build a fire while he cleaned and gutted the fish. Once they were done, he slapped the pink meat into a cast iron skillet and cooked it until it was golden brown.

Following lunch, Dad went back to fishing while Lincoln and Johnny took Mr. Loud on a nature walk on one of the many trails that crisscross the forest surrounding the lake. Mr. Loud insisted on leading even though he knew nothing about the lay of the land. "I'm a big outdoorsman," he assured them, "it comes second nature to me. Get it?" He slapped his knee and gave a big, snorting Goofy laugh (ayuk) and Johnny cringed. God, he thought his old man was embarrassing.

"But Mr. Loud wants to go camping," he whispered nastily to Lincoln.

"Shut up," Lincoln said.

They hiked half way around the lake, then took a narrow path that branched off of the main trail. "I don't know about this," Lincoln worried, "we should go back."

"Nonsense," Mr. Loud said, "real men blaze their own trails."

Five minutes later, Johnny realized something.

The path was gone.

At some point it had petered out and given way to forest floor. Gnarled and twisted tree trunks closed in on all sides, and the interlaced boughs overhead blocked out most of the waning afternoon light, casting the forest in rising gloom. "Uh...Mr. Loud?'

'Yeah?"

"Where are we?"

Mr. Loud stopped and looked around. "We're, well…" he spun around in a confused circle. "We came from...that direction?"

Johnny looked behind him. He didn't remember passing any of those trees, but then again, everything looked the same out here.

"We're lost, aren't we?" Lincoln asked.

"Of course not," Mr. Loud said. He didn't sound very convincing. "Look, there's a rock." He walked over and knelt. "Moss always grows on the south and faces civilization."

"No, it always grows on the north," Johnny corrected.

"Right, that's what I meant to say."

Johnny rolled his eyes. "Luckily, I have a compass." He took the compass off his utility belt and held it up. The needle didn't move. "If it'll work." He tapped the plastic face with his finger.

Nothing happened.

He did it again and that's when he realized the needle and markings…

...were painted on. It wasn't a real compass at all.

"Stupid thing," he hissed and threw it away.

"Don't worry, boys," Mr. Loud said, "I'll get us out of this."

To his credit, he tried. They wandered through the bush for what seemed like forever, the scenery never changing and the sense of foreboding in Johnny's chest getting heavier and heavier. The light grew weaker, the wind colder, and the trees closer, like they were waiting for nightfall to attack. Mr. Loud bumbled, stumbled, and fumbled, and at one point took a bee sting to the arm. After five minutes of crying and rocking back and forth like Peter Griffin with a skinned knee, he got back to his feet and dragged himself along behind Lincoln and Johnny, surrendering any pretense of being in charge that he may have had.

Things were looking grim, but thankfully for them, Johnny had his belt. He pushed the emergency button and a piece of paper attached to a parachute popped out. CALL POLICE: ASSISTANCE NEEDED. It landed on the ground and lay there. Dead. Impotent. Lincoln looked at it, then at Johnny. "Some belt."

"There are other features."

For the next twenty minutes, Johnny pressed the help button as they walked. "HELP!" it said, "HELP! HELP! HELP!"

Behind them, Mr. Loud fell to the ground, curled up, and started to sob. "We're all gonna die."

Johnny sighed. "Get up."

"Go on without me. You're young and strong. You have a chance."

The last light of day drained from the sky, and the world went irreversibly black. Johnny sat down and crossed his legs, and Lincoln knelt next to Mr. Loud. "We'll be fine, we just have to keep going."

"I'm a failure as a man," Mr. Loud wept. "I can't even go camping!"

Johnny planted his face in his hands and took a deep breath. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, my belt's a failure too."

"So's the guy wearing it," Lincoln said.

Johnny ignored him.

Just when it seemed all hope was lost, a bright, burning beam of light bathed Johnny's face and he winced. "There you are," Dad said, "I've been looking all over for you."

Dad led them back to camp, where a warm fire roared, and poured them all cups of coffee. Lincoln draped a wool blanket over Mr. Loud's shoulders, then sat next to him. "What happened out there?" Dad asked.

"I thought I could do it," Mr. Loud said in a hollow, broken tone that Johnny couldn't help pitying. "I thought I could be a man...but I'm not a man. I'm a wimp."

Dad laughed heartily and Johnny and Lincoln both shot him daggers. Dude, that's not funny, guy's obviously in pain. "That's not what being a man is about," Dad said. "Being a man is about loving and taking care of your family. It's about doing what's right. So what you carry a purse and can't bait a hook. None of that makes you a wimp. Not every man is the same and that's a good thing, if you ask me. We need strong manly men and we need suburban soccer dads. It's called diversity."

Mr. Loud considered his words for a long time. "I-I guess," he said.

"Sure," Dad said.

"I just wish I felt a little more manly."

"Well," Dad said, "you came to the right place."

For the rest of the weekend, Dad taught Mr. Loud how to fish, track, hunt, build a fire using only two rocks and some twigs, and all sorts of other manly things. By the time they left on Sunday afternoon, he was ecstatic. "I can't wait to show off my new skills," he said.

"Just as long as you don't forget your old ones," Dad said. "I'd hate to not have any of your cookies ever again."

So would Johnny, come to think of it.

Mr. Loud made awesome cookies.


	14. Ranch Hands

Every summer, the Loud family piled into Lynn Sr.'s old van and took a vacation somewhere in the US. Last year they went to Colonial Williamsburg and the year before that, they visited the Grand Canyon. Mr. Loud believed that long road trips were the best way for a family to bond, so they never flew or took a train. How Vanzilla managed to make it through a yearly jaunt to and fro, no one knew, but somehow it did, though it was known to break down in transit and set them back a day or two. "No problem," Mr. Loud would say, "that just means more time...together." He would then make a heart by pressing his thumbs and knuckles together, and all of his daughters would gag.

The most ambitious trip the Louds had ever undertaken was to Mexico three summers ago. They got stopped at the border and strip searched, then had the van stolen in Tijuana and got arrested by corrupt federales and held in jail for two days. When Mr. Loud told the story, this strange, faraway look crept into his eyes, and his voice grew sober. "You do not want to be in jail in Mexico," he'd say with a shiver.

What happened to him in there?

Johnny could only guess...and tbh, he didn't want to.

Most of their vacations didn't end in disaster like that. In fact, they were a blast. Johnny knew because they brought him and Lincoln along on the last two. In Williamsburg, they dressed up like Colonials, and at the Grand Canyon, they rode donkeys to the bottom. It was sick. Temperature of one oh three.

Mr. and Mrs. Loud began planning the trip back in March, and every so often Johnny would ask them where they were going. "It's a surprise," Mr. Loud said.

"It's going to be a lot of fun," Mrs. Loud agreed.

Okay, sure. He was pumped up and excited and wanted to know right now, but surprises were always fun. Plus, it's not like it mattered that much. It was a free vacation, so he couldn't complain even if they went to the glue factory or something. Not only was it cool of the Louds to let him and Lincoln tag along, it was the only chance Johnny got to travel. Before that first vacation, he'd only be out of Michigan one time, and only then because Dad took a wrong turn and didn't realize it until they were in Indiana. Yeah, seeing America from the back of a smelly, sixty year old van filled with screaming, bickering girls wasn't the best, but it was a lot better than not seeing it at all. He was holding out hope that one day Mr. Loud would be open to going to Mexico again, or even Canada; Johnny didn't care which, just as long as he got to brag that he'd been outside of the country.

On Friday, July 8, Lincoln and Johnny left the house just after sunrise and carried their bags over to the Loud house. The Louds were already getting on while Mr. and Mrs. Loud loaded things into the back. "Morning, boys," Mr. Loud said. "Are you ready for our big trip?"

"We sure are," Johnny said excitedly and looked at Lincoln. "Right?"

Lincoln, eyes bleary and hair stuck out, grunted something that could have been an agreement or an insult.

Soon, they were underway and heading southwest on I-75, Johnny sitting in the second row between Luna and Luan and Lincoln in the back with Lisa and the twins. Johnny made sure to sit with the older girls on every trip because the younger ones, from Lynn on down, had major crushes on him, and if he sat with them, they wouldn't leave him alone the whole drive. They'd talk to him, touch him, bat their eyelashes at him, and stare at him until he was so uncomfortable he might as well be sitting on a bed of nails. Lori, Leni, Luna, and Luan were cool, they left him alone. Except for Luan, she cracked jokes and made stupid puns in his ear, but she usually tuckered herself out around the five hundred mile mark, so it was all good.

"So," Johnny said in general, "where are we going?"

"The Craterville Dude Ranch," Mr. Loud said.

Oh.

"What's that?" Johnny asked. He'd heard the term "dude ranch" before, and always assumed it was a place where bros chilled on horses.

Mr. Loud looked into the rearview mirror. "Oh, you're gonna love it, it's this great old place where you can pretend to be a cowboy."

Ah. Okay. That made sense. Mr. and Mrs. Loud had an affinity for westerns that made Dad's love of wrestling look like a passing interest. They collected memorabilia from cowboy movies, owned every John Ford movie on VHS, DVD, and Blu-Ray, and had Old West themed paintings depicting dusty plains and cattle drives on their bedroom walls. Their most prized possession, displayed in a place of honor above the mantle, was a signed and framed photo of John Wayne. Johnny couldn't be sure, but he suspected that Mr. Loud fell on his knees in worship every time he passed it.

"Where is it?" Johnny asked.

"New Mexico," Mr. Loud said.

Johnny whistled. New Mexico. He kind of knew where that was (next to California, right?). That was a looooong way from Michigan. That meant the drive was going to take forever. It also meant that he'd get to go through a bunch of states he'd never been to before and see a lot of cool scenery.

Now he was amped.

Lincoln, on the other hand...not so much.

More awake now than he had been just a few minutes ago, Lincoln glowered out the window at the passing suburbs with his chin planted in his upturned palm; he looked like he was one pothole away from exploding, and if Johnny didn't know any better, he'd say those were tears in his eyes.

God, what a drama queen.

A few months back, Lincoln started dating Maggie, a slightly older girl who hung out with Lucy. He was crazy about her and absolutely hated being away from her for extended periods of time. Earlier this year, during that whole Pabstvirus thing, she visited her grandparents for a week, and how Lincoln moped, Oh, boo hoo, muh gurlfriend. Wah, I miss staring into Maggie's hard, glaring eyes. Reeee. Lincoln would likely be pissy this entire vacation.

Whatever, though, just as long as he didn't ruin it for Johnny.

An hour and a half after leaving the Louds' driveway, they crossed into Illinois and hit Chicago traffic. From there, they angled south and crossed through Missouri, Kansas, Oklahoma, and Texas. The land grew flatter the farther south they went until it stretched away from either side of the highway like a tabletop. Vast fields of wheat dotted with rambling farms pressed against the shoulders through much of Kansas, and stacks of clouds towered into the endless sky like snow covered mountains in a blurry fever dream. Johnny stared raptly out the window at mile after mile of the same topography like a gobsmacked tourist in Times' Square and called out every so often to his brother. "Yo, did you see that?" "Bro, check it, a cow."

"Cool," Lincoln said flatly.

Every time. Cool. Cool. Cool. Cool, cool, cool, coolcoolcoolcool.

"What's wrong with him?" Lola asked and crossed her arms.

"He's butthurt he can't hang out with his girlfriend."

Lola turned and studied Lincoln for a full minute. "I don't get what she sees in him. Those sunglasses and the slicked back hair make him look like a dork."

"Your face makes you look like a dork," Lincoln clapped back.

Lana laughed. "It's true."

"Shut up, booger eater," Lola spat.

A dark shadow crossed Lana's face. "No, you, snot sucker."

And thus passed three hundred miles of Lana and Lola trading insults.

That evening, they stopped just across the Oklahoma state line for dinner at a roadside rib joint with rafters, unfinished wood floors, and country music blaring from a jukebox in a corner. Guys in plaid shirts and cowboy hats and women with eighties style perms mobbed the free salad bar, and a fat guy in an apron and a hairnet carried a plastic tub filled with dirty dishes into the kitchen. Lincoln sat there like a sad sack the whole time and cried (metaphorically) into his coleslaw. "Dude, will you snap out of it?" Johnny asked at one point. "Man up and eat the brisket Mr. Loud bought you."

"Screw you," Lincoln sneered.

"Bro, it's just a girl."

"Yeah? Maybe you'd know how I feel if you could actually get a girlfriend."

Okay, that made Johnny mad. The littlest Louds liked him, but literally no other girl did and sometimes, that kind of bothered him. Then he looked at Lincoln and Maggie, saw how into him she was, and got unaccountably angry. "You little punk," he said through his teeth. He grabbed Lincoln's jacket, and Lincoln swatted his hands.

"Lincoln, Johnny," Mrs. Loud said, stopping them, "please no fighting at the table."

"Yes, ma'am," they said in unison.

This isn't over, Johnny mouthed.

Lincoln mimed cutting his own neck.

Okay, loser.

Following a quick pit stop in the bathroom, they piled back into the van and took off, Johnny instantly forgetting the threat he made to his brother.

Mr. and Mrs. Loud took turns driving through the night so that they didn't have to stop and spend money on a motel. Lori leaned against the window and fell asleep at midnight, Leni leaned her head against Lori's shoulder, and Johnny leaned his head against Leni's shoulder. He woke several times before dawn, stiff and sore, but didn't hang around for long before dropping off again.

Sunrise found them on a desert highway in eastern New Mexico. A red, blasted Martain hellscape fell away from the road and giant rock formations thrust up from the hardpan like statues to strange and terrible elders gods. "I have to pee," Leni whined.

"We're almost there, honey," Mr. Loud said.

Ten minutes later, they pulled off the highway and onto a gravel road that curved around a rocky hillside. The ranch hoved into view and Johnny craned his neck to see it. A collection of tumbledown buildings formed a rough semi-circle around a wide dirt dooryard. A horse stable sat off to one side and a decomposing split rail fence surrounded the entirety of the compound like a moat, only made of splinters instead of water. An archway stood over the entrance, a sun-bleached sign spackled with rust creaking back and forth in the dessicated wind. CRATERVILLE RANCH.

Johnny could see why they called this place Craterville. The resemblance to Mars (or to his idea of Mars anyway) was stronger than ever; if he squinted and ignored the hazy sky, he could almost believe that he actually was on Mars. He and the Louds were stranded on the Red Planet after their spaceship went astray and crashed, now supplies were running out and hunger was beginning to set in. Do you wanna have a tea party? Lola asked. No, Johnny replied and held up a knife and fork, I'd rather have a Donner Party.

Nah, if he was gonna resort to cannibalism, he'd go for Mrs. Loud first. She was a big woman and if he conserved his rations just right, he could live off of her for weeks.

He blinked. Why was he thinking about cannibalism?

Mr. Loud pulled the van into the dooryard and cut the engine. "Alright, gang," he said, "we're here."

Outside, the morning was bright and hot, the occasional blast of wind scouring Johnny's face like a sheet of sandpaper. Everyone else piled out of the van, stretching and flexing sore muscles, and Johnny looked around the ranch. The buildings facing the dooryard were low, one-story, and cabin-like, each boasting a canted front porch. A tall man in cowboy boots and a white Stetson stepped out of one and moseyed on over, each step kicking up puffs of dirt. He was roughly twenty-five with rugged features, blonde hair, and faded blue eyes. "Howdy, folks," he said in a thick Texas drawl, "y'all must be the Louds."

"That's us," Mr. Loud said.

"It's mighty nice to meet you. My name's Tex, and I'm the manager here."

Now, as a strong, independent black man with a little white thrown in, Johnny didn't believe in stereotyping people, but if he was honest, he would have been shocked if this dude was called anything but Tex. He glanced at Lincoln to gauge his reaction, and that's when he realized something.

All of the Loud girls (with the exception of Mrs. Loud) were gaping at Tex. From their slack-jaws, blushing faces, and big, heart-shaped pupils (literally heart shaped...yo, how are you doing that?) he could only draw one conclusion.

They thought the cowboy was hot.

Something small and hard slammed into his kidney, and a fiery band of pain wrapped around his midsection. "Step aside, dog meat," Lola hissed, "your blocking the hunk." She went up to Tex, balled her hands cutely, and swiveled on the balls of her heels. "Hi," she said and batted her eyelashes, "I'm Lola Loud. I'm beautiful too."

Tex dawned a big grin. "Well, hi there, little lady. You sure are purdy. But I reckon you don't look the part of a real cowgirl." He looked at everyone else. "Fact, none of you do. But not to worry, we'll get you fixed up in a jiff. Just let me show you where y'all will be stayin'."

Turning, Tex led them to their accommodations. Because there were so many people, Mr. Loud booked two cabins. Mrs. Loud, Lynn, Lucy, Lana, Lola, Lisa, and Lily took one and Mr. Loud, Lori, Leni, Luna, Luan, Lincoln, and Johnny the other. Johnny expected them to be as decrepit inside as they were out, but was pleasantly surprised to find that they weren't. Four sets of bunk beds stood against the oak paneled wall, and a heavy rug sat in the middle of the polished hardwood floor. A long table flanked by straight back chairs took up one corner, and a desk occupied an alcove near the door. Johnny scanned the room, and frowned. "Where's the TV?" he asked.

Tex chuckled and slapped his back. "There ain't none. This is the Old West, partner, we don't got TV. We got cards, hard work, and the Bible. That's all you rightly need."

Hard work.

Okay, maybe coming here was a mistake.

"I'll go get y'all somethin' to wear," Tex said. "Be back faster than a barefoot jackrabbit on a hot greasy griddle in the middle of August." He clapped Johnny's back again and left, letting the door fall closed behind him.

As soon as he was gone, Leni sighed dreamily. "He's totes cute."

"Ugh, I know," Lori said and sank onto one of the beds, "I wonder if he likes blondes."

"He strikes me as a music lover," Luna said.

Luan rolled her eyes. "Obviously he likes jokes."

"I think he likes white haired little boys," Johnny said and smirked at Lincoln. "You better watch out, bro, Maggie has competition."

All of the Loud girls glared.

Did he say something wrong.

"That's not funny," Luan charged. "And I know funny."

"Yeah," Leni said, brow pinched. "Tex is not a…" she trailed off and tapped her chin. "What do you call a grown up who likes kids?"

"Nothing," Mr. Loud said, "now unpack your things and get settled in."

Johnny unpacked his bag and stowed his clothes in the dresser at the foot of his and Lincoln's bunk. He found an outlet behind the nightstand and plugged in his phone just as Tex returned with a stack of clothes in his arms. "You'll find you some boots in the closet and some hats too, I figure." He sat the clothes on the desk and put his hands on his hips. "Y'all be sure to check your beddin' now. We got scorpions and tarantulas out here and they just love snugglin' up in the beds."

Everyone exchanged an uneasy glance.

"Y'all get dressed then come out to the stable if you want. Our horses are just rarin' to go." He tipped his hat and took his leave.

Scorpions and spiders.

Yes...coming here was a mistake.

Before getting dressed, he made sure to check his bed thoroughly.

Ten minutes after getting into their new outfits, everyone met at the stable. Johnny, clad in a simple plaid shirt tucked into jeans, was amused by what everyone else was wearing: Lori a plain blue dress with white fringe under an apron; Mrs. Loud a pink western style shirt and purple pants that probably didn't exist in the Old West; Luan yellow pants with tassels; Leni a green burlesque girl style dress, white gloves, and a feather in her hair; Lola a pink dress with a white boa and a tiny little hat; and, eh, he lost track after that. Plaid, denim, and ten gallon hats abounded, that's all you really need to know.

"Glad y'all decided to come out," Tex said.

There were five horses in the stable so they had to go in shifts. A guy in greasy overalls named Bob led the horses around the pen by a rope while each of the girls took turns riding, and Tex did his best to teach the boys how to lasso. "The trick is in all in the wrist," Tex grinned. "You gotta be quick and loose like."

He made it look easy, but when Johnny tried, it wasn't; the rope kind of went haywire and wound up knocking Mr. Loud's hat off his head. Mr. Loud, however, was even worse: Somehow he managed to get tangled in the rope and fell face first in the dirt. Tex helped him up and dusted him off. "Maybe we'll try this again later," he said encouragingly.

After Lola's turn on the horse, Johnny climbed on and held tight to the reins lest it buck him off and kick him in the face. It started to move, and Johnny squeezed his eyes closed in expectation of death.

It didn't come.

He creaked one eye open. The girls clustered around Tex as he did elaborate tricks with his lasso, love and devotion on their faces. You know...they (at least the younger ones) used to look at him that way.

Something stirred in his chest, and his teeth ground unconsciously together. He was so caught up in silent resentment that when the horse turned to avoid hitting the gate, he lost his balance and started to fall. Crying out, Johnny grabbed at the reins but missed and went down, landing hard on his butt. The horse tossed its head and let out a chortle that sounded suspiciously like laughter. Bob spared Johnny a quick glance. "You gettin' back on, boy?"

Johnny got to his feet and dusted himself off. "No," he said.

After a lunch of beans and bacon in the camp mess, Tex took them on a nature walk through the desert. All of the girls got as close to him as they could, and Johnny rolled his eyes. He wasn't that good looking. His face was all rough and weatherbeaten, which made him look old and homeless. What was attractive about that?

Nothing, nothing at all.

But the girls were stuck to him like glue anyway.

He couldn't believe he was thinking this, but he almost wished they'd go back to bothering him.

Breaking from Lincoln's side, he walked up to Lucy, who stared up at the cowboy through her bangs. "Hey, Luce," he said.

No reply.

"Cool, uh, nature trail, huh?"

Nothing.

"You look very nice today."

She looked the same as she always did, except for the stern black dress that made her look like a female mortician.

"You're very pretty."

Still nothing.

Johnny made a noise of disgust in the back of his throat and fell in beside Lincoln. "I can't stand him."

"Who?"

"Tex."

"Why not?"

Johnny's lips puckered bitterly. "He stole my haram."

Confusion flickered across Lincoln's face. "What? Dude, you don't even like them."

"That's not the point," Johnny grumbled.

Lincoln turned and looked at him. "Hey, what's wrong with your eyes?"

"What?" Johnny asked.

"They're green."

He smirked and Johnny bristled. In case you don't know, jealousy is called "The Green Eyed Monster." Saying someone's eyes are green means they're eating their heart out.

"No they're not."

"Yes they are."

Johnny started to argue, but maybe...just maybe...Lincoln was right.

That thought carried him through the rest of the day. After the hike, Tex brought them to a creek (pronounced 'crick' which rhymes with hick) and then to a makeshift archery range where he taught the proper way to operate a bow and arrow. Lincoln had never so much as touched an arrow before but he took to it like a fish to water. Johnny, on the other hand, kept fumbling; every time her drew back the bow, his arrow fell to the dirt. "You're not very good at this," Leni said from beside him.

"Look who's talking," Johnny snapped. "Your arrow is backwards. You're gonna wind up impaling yourself."

She shrugged. "I'm a girl, I'm, like, allowed to not be good at this. You're a boy, you have to be good at it." She spotted Tex and smiled. "He's really good. Like, so much better than you. I bet he never drops his arrow."

Each comparison stoked the flames in Johnny's chest higher and higher until he lightly trembled. He'd show her. He'd show all of them. He could shoot just as well as Tex. No, no, he could shoot better. He set his arrow and pulled the string back.

The arrow dropped.

A bomb blast of rage detonated in Johnny's stomach. Throwing the bow aside, he bent, picked up the arrow, and broke it over his knee, then stormed off. Later on, when he was calmer, he came back and found Lincoln and the Louds in the mess hall, where Tex had them doing dumb arts and even dumber crafts. He sat next to Lincoln and crossed his arms. "I'm really mad," he said.

"Congratulations," Lincoln said without looking up from his popsicle stick birdhouse.

"Really? You're not gonna back me up here?"

Lincoln turned to him. "Dude, you're being petty. They've been crushing on you forever and you ignored them. Now they're crushing on Tex - whom they have no chance with, I might add - and you're bellyaching. Make up your mind. You're worse than a woman."

Something came over Johnny and before he knew what he was doing, he was lunging at Lincoln. Lincoln, cooler and more collected, anticipated this, and shoved him, knocking from his seat. He landed on the floor and a bolt of pain streaked up his arm. "Idiot!" he screamed at his brother. He started to get up, but staggered and fell to his knees. Everyone except Lincoln started to laugh at him. Leni pointed, Luan waved her hand (stop, you're killing me!), and Mr. Loud shook his head from side to side as if to say he couldn't take anymore. Someone grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet, and when he realized it was Tex, he yanked rudely away.

"You alright there, partner?"

"I'm fine," Johnny choked, "leave me alone."

He went back to his cabin and stayed there for the rest of the day. Mr. and Mrs. Loud came by to see if he was okay and to apologize for laughing at him, but he played sick and they left him alone.

That night, he lay awake and absently watched a bar of dusty moonlight crawl across the wall. Was he being petty the way Lincoln said? He went back over the day, the smoldering embers in his chest raking and glowing with infernal life once more, and he decided that he was. He didn't like any of the Loud girls like that, but deep down, he enjoyed their attention. It's not like he had any other girls hollering at him.

The next morning, he rolled out of bed at the crack of dawn, used the bathroom, and got dressed for the day. First, Tex took them white water rafting, then bird watching in the valley. The whole time, the Loud girls fawned all over him, and Johnny silently fumed. He tried to get their attention by telling his best jokes and getting in front of them on the trail, but he might as well have been a ghost to them. They only had eyes for lOnG, tAn, AnD hAnDsOmE. At dinner, he sat between Lana and Lola and glared at Tex from across the room.

Were there any walk-in freezers around? If he could lock him in, he'd stop stealing Johnny's thunder.

What he wouldn't give for the Loud girls to pay attention to him. He'd even -

On the other side of the room, Tex turned blue and started clawing at his throat.

Johnny blinked.

The cowboy bent over the table and jerked like he was going to puke. Johnny looked around, stricken, but no one was paying attention.

Dude, he was choking!

Luckily, Johnny knew just what to do.

Jumping to his feet, he ran over, got behind Tex, and wrapped his arms around him. Straining, applied as much pressure as he could, somehow lifting the cowboy six inches from his seat even though he outweighed Johnny by a good two hundred pounds. Everyone noticed what was going on and crowded around, all talking at once. Johnny tightened his grip and threw himself back like a wrestler trying to bodyslam an opponent. Tex hacked, and a wad of frood shot from his mouth and landed in Lola's hair. She let out a horrified shriek and ran around in circles, arms waving.

Johnny let go and sank to his butt, panting and sweating. Tex coughed into his hand and turned around. "You saved me, partner."

"Chew better next time," Johnny said.

"You're totes a hero," Leni said.

Only then did he realize that all of the Loud girls, plus Tex and Mr. and Mrs. Loud, were huddled around him.

Their pupils, to a one, were shaped like hearts.

Johnny laughed nervously.

"I should be careful what I wish for," he said.


	15. Lincoln and Johnny Build a Treehouse

Lincoln and Johnny were sitting under the shady boughs of the oak tree in their backyard with Sergo and wondering how they were going to spend their 104 days of summer vacation. It was a late June day, the Loud girls were out of town visiting their grandfather, Sid and Stella were both at math camp, and there was nothing to do. For a while, they argued over how to while away the time. Johnny wanted to go to the creek, but Lincoln wanted to go to the ice cream shop. They decided against both and tried to brainstorm some third option, but it didn't go so well: Johnny suggested a movie, since theaters are cool and dark, but the only matinees playing were _The Day The Sun Exploded _and _Invasion of the Fire People_. They went to the park, but a bunch of older boys in sunglasses and motorcycle jackets chased them away for blowing bubbles.

Sighing deeply, Lincoln laced his hands across the nape of his neck, tilted his head back, and stared up at the branches above. They rustled lightly in the mind and shafts of sunlight fell through them, tattooing little gold coins across the grass. "Trees are really great," he said. "So tall...so leafy…"

"Yeah, they 'ight," Johnny said.

"You know," Lincoln said, "sometimes I wish I could just -"

An idea struck him and he sat up straight. "Johnny, I know what we're going to do today."

"What?"

Lincoln grinned. "Build a treehouse."

He looked around. "Hey, where's Sergio?"

Inside, Sergio, now wearing a tiny little fedora, jumped into the toilet, flushed it, and was sucked down the pipes. A moment later, he dropped into a large room containing only a chair, a giant screen, and a control panel that ran the length of the far wall. The screen flickered on, and a man with a gray mustache appeared. "Agent Sergio, we have word that Dr. Goofensquirtz is building some kind of doomsday machine." The man sighed. "Again. The guy never learns his lesson. Seriously, how many times do we have to kick his butt?"

He shook his head. "Anyway, you know the drill, you do this everyday."

The screen went dark, and a tube dropped out of the ceiling, slurping Sergio up like a vacuum. He was deposited into the driver seat of a bird-sized hot rod. He strapped the seatbelt across his chest, turned the key in the ignition, and tore down the street, leaving little trails of fire in his wake.

Back in the yard, Lincoln and Johnny stood in front of the tree in hard hats and orange vests and went over a set of blueprints as heavy earth moving equipment tore up the grass. A fat, sweaty foreman shouted orders to his men, and orange and white striped crowd control barriers cordoned off large swaths of the lawn. "Hey, guys," Ronnie Anne said, walking up, "what'cha doin?"

"Oh, hey, Ronnie Anne," Lincoln said, "we're building a treehouse."

"Cool, can I help?"

"Sure," Lincoln said.

Johnny helped her into a vest, and Lincoln sat a hard hat on her head. A bulldozer pushed a giant mound of dirt away from the tree, and a team of guys dug a large trench along the fence. A cement mixer backed in from the side yard, beeping all the time, and a big dump truck rumbled past, making the entire world shake. Inside, Lincoln and Johnny's father grimaced and clutched a can of non-alcoholic beer in one bear-sized hand. On TV, Dusty Rhodes gave his storied and inspiring "Hard times" promo, and Jason Velazquest had been listening to it again and again since he got out of bed, the way he always did when he needed a pick me up. Only all those bleep engines and grumbling noises were bleeping up his concentration.

Growling, he got up and went into the kitchen. He opened the back door, stuck his head out, and froze. The backyard was filled with earth moving equipment and construction workers. Lincoln and Johnny stood in the middle of it all with Ronnie Anne, pointing and directing their men. Jason's face grew hot. "Boys!"

They glanced over at him.

"I'm telling Mom!"

Turning, he rushed back into the living room and grabbed his phone from the end table. Those boys were always doing this and no one ever believed him because at the last minute, everything they did just magically disappeared. Not this time.

He dialed and a moment later, his mother picked up. "Mom, Mom, the boys are building a giant tree house in the backyard and they have earth moving equipment and everything."

The line was silent for a moment. "Chil', you done lost yo mind."

"Mom, I swear."

"Get off my phone playin' like that. You and yo stories, boy, I oughta come out there and whip yo bleep."

She hung up.

Darn it.

Elizabeth.

Throwing the phone down, he ran up the stairs and found his wife cleaning out the attic, a red bandanna wrapped around her forehead. In her Mom jeans, she was looking thick and Jason took a moment to check her out before spilling his guts. "Liz, Liz, the boys are tearing up the backyard with dump trucks and union crews, come quick."

Elizabeth sighed. "Jason, I'm sure you're imagining things."

"But -"

"But nothing, help me with all of this junk, most of it's yours anyway."

Jason slumped his shoulders and stomped. "Don't wanna."

"Jason…"

He threw his head back. "Fine, God!"

Across town, a giant building towered into the air, sleek and modern with many windows shimmering against the sun.

_~Goofensquirtz Evil LTDDDDDD~_

Inside, a tall, bird faced man with pallid skin and an eye patch stood in front of a digital map of the city, his hands behind his back and a mad, leering smile on his thin face. He wore a rumpled white lab coat and a red arm band with two interlocking Zs in a white oval. A team of henchmen stood at strategic locations, holding walkie talkies, while a few techs sat at the control panel, pushing buttons and pulling levers. Sergio slunk through the shadows, pressed to the wall and out of sight. He crouched behind a random red barrel and watched. Dr. Goofensquirtz preened at the map, where a bunch of red dots glowed like evil eyes, and Sergio tensed himself for a fight.

Before he could spring into action, however, a net shot out of nowhere and snared him like a spider web. He was hoisted up and swung from side to side, his fighting and fluttering doing no good. Dr. Goofensquirtz wheeled around and came over, his smile wide and sick. "Ah, Sergio ze Parrot," he said in a comically high pitched German accent. "You zhought zat you could sneak up on me, but I haft become very sensitive to ze sound of little bird claws clicking on ze floor. I heard you a mile away. You should veally be more careful next time." He turned around and clasped his hands behind his back. "You are just in time to zee ze unveiling of mine latest creation. For you zee, Sergio, today iz a very special day, it is ze day zat I vill get revenge on mine greatest enemies: Ze mean boys who vould not let me join their treehouse club vhen I vas but a child."

Sad violin music played and Sergio looked around in an attempt to determine where it was coming from.

"I vanted only to be a part of zheir merrymaking, Sergio, but zhey vould not let me. Zhey said zat I was veird und that I smelled. I vas poor, Sergio, I could not afford to bathe. Zat vas not mine fault. I haft carried zhis vith me for many years, und today I vill unleash mine vengeance in ze form of…"

He stepped aside, and the floor opened up. A giant missile thrust up and Sergio quivered. "Ze Tree House Eliminator Anator."

Dr. Goofensquirtz craned his neck to look up at the massive rocket. "Vun push of ze button und all ze treehouses in ze vorld vill be reduced to teeny, bitsy piles of ashes. Ze boys and und girls in zhem will be turned to cinders, Sergio, und they vill _never _make other children feel bad about zhemselves even again." He shot off a crisp, stiff arm salute. "Seig bleep"

Sergio thought of his friends Lincoln and Johnny.

They were building a treehouse!

Sergio's face darkened and he started to thrash violently.

Sixteen blocks southwest as the pigeon flies, Lincoln and Johnny looked up at the tree. The treehouse was rapidly taking shape. Just a few minutes ago it was a bare, skeletal frame, now that the external walls had been raised, it resembled their vision, a grand palace on a perch where they could chill and get away from it all. Upstairs, unseen by them, their father pressed his face to the grimy glass. He swept the yard and zeroed in on a man wearing a white hard hat and a suit. "Liz! Look! The building inspector! This is serious!"

Elizabeth knelt in front of a steamer trunk crammed with wrestling VHS tapes and gangsta rap records from the nineties, her back to her husband. "Yes, dear," she said, humoring him, "do you want to keep these?"

"Liz, you gotta believe me!"

"I believe you. Do you want to keep this Melle Mel record or not?"

She held it up and Jason's brow furrowed. "Is that the one wth _Stupid Mutha Bleepas _on it?"

"Yes."

"GIVE IT HERE, I LOVE THAT SONG!"

Outside, a crane sat the roof on top of the treehouse and a team of people climbed on to nail it down in place. Lincoln loaded buckets of plaster and hand tools into a cherry picker, Johnny and Ronnie Anne joining him. "You guys ready?"

"Ready," Johnny said,

Lincoln raised the platform until it was flush with the treehouse then stopped. Johnny went inside, followed by Ronnie Anne, each carrying supplies.

Back at Goofensquirtz Evil Ltd, Dr. Goofensquirtz stood with his back to Sergio and stared up at his rocket with a lustful smile. "I am such a genius, Sergio ze Parrot, you should be thankful to haft such a vorthy foe, not every little secret agent animal gets to go against ze best, you know." He shook his head. "Zee, ze rocket is a genius design, it hast a self destruct button on ze top part zat you could trigger, but you cannot reach it, Sergo, so it is zhere to mock you, my vay of laughing at you. It iz zo close yet zo far away." He threw his head back, hooked his fingers, and cackled like a madman, "You can not defeat me, Sergio, you are a loser. I feel so bad for you, I almost vish there vere some vay you could vin, but zhere isn't."

Sergio rocked the net back and forth, back and forth, faster and faster. It came loose from its moorings on the backswing and he escaped in a flutter of wings. Dr. Goofensquirtz turned just as Sergio lunged at him. The German screamed and ducked. "Fire ze rocket!" he screamed.

"Launch sequence initiated," a voice boomed over the loudspeaker. The world started to shake and white smoke gushed up from around the missile's base. Henchmen scrambled around like chickens with their heads cut off and Sergio's heart raced. He had to get to that self-destruct button.

He flew at the payload at the top of the behohmoth's shaft. Below, Dr. Goofensquirtz staggered to his feet and shook his fist. "Get avay from zhere, Sergio, leave mine rocket alone! Let me vin just zhis vnce!"

The rocket lifted off in a blast of smoke, and Sergio flew faster, his head down and his wings beating furiously. He reached the top and spotted a blinking red button. He hit it with his beak, and without warning, the rocket's internal thrust cut out and it started to fall, hurtling toward the Goofensqurtz Evil Ltd Building. "Nein!" Dr. Goofensquirtz yelled. "Ze rocket! Ze rocket ist coming!" He ran around in a circle while all of his techs and henchmen fell over themselves to get away. The missile hit the building sideways and exploded, the shockwaves blowing out windows and tripping car alarms for six blocks in every direction. The building imploded on itself in a puff of thick, gray smoke, and Sergio took off his hat and held it over his chest in respect of his very vorthy foe.

In the rubble, Dr. Goofensquirtz sat up and coughed, having miraculously survived with nothing worse than a few scratches. "I vill get you vne day, Sergio ze Parrot!" he cried at the escaping bird, "mark mine vords! MARK MINE VORDS!"

The treehouse was finally done. Ronnie Anne, Lincoln, and Johnny stood in the main room and looked around. A decorative T-rex head hung on the wall, a pink armchair and a yellow bean bag chair faced an old school television set with knobs and stuff, and the bare wood rafters were strung with Christmas lights. Outside, the construction workers filled in all the trenches, ruts, and tracks left by their equipment, then patted down the soil and replaced the grass.

Ronnie Anne plopped down on the beanbag. "This place is pretty neat," she said.

"And it only took us an hour to build," Lincoln said, "that's gotta be a new record."

Johnny sat on the chair and crossed his legs. "Anyone up for a little _Call of Honor?" _

"Sure," Lincoln said, "but -"

Sergio fluttered through the door and perched on the back of Johnny's chair.

"Oh, there you are," Lincoln said.

In the house, Jason dragged his wife through the kitchen. "Come look, come look!" he urged.

She sighed. "Alright, Jason, show me the construction zone you swear our backyard has become."

Oh, he would.

He opened the door and stepped aside, gesturing with his arm. _Wah-lah_.

Elizabeth blinked. "Oh...the boys built a treehouse. That's nice."

Jason's smile fell and he stuck his head out the door.

It was gone.

All gone.

The diggers and backhoes, the Mexicans, the trucks and cement mixers and OSHA inspectors. The ground was green and unbroken and it was like nothing had never happened.

"Not again," he muttered.

Then began to cry.


	16. A Hill of a Time

Lincoln Velazquest had many interests, some of which came and went like a passing breeze. Comic books, video games, and making money were mainstays, but his fascination with auto mechanics, astrology, and woodworking didn't last very long. Of course, he didn't know going in that he would no longer dig it three weeks later; he approached every single one with the same zeal and determination that he did anything else, and always assumed that his passion would stick around forever.

His latest obsession was the paranormal. One night, as he lay awake in bed, he watched a video on YouTube where some dude used a "spirit box" to talk to ghosts. A spirit box is essentially a specially programmed radio that constantly scans stations. The idea is that the spirits of the dead can somehow speak in the white noise. They don't have full conversations or anything, but they _do _use simple phrases. One of the ghosts in the video Lincoln watched said _In hell...so hot…_

CHILLING.

After that, Lincoln devoured every spirit box video he could find, then scoured the internet for more information. His brother, Johnny, wound up getting sucked in, and together they begged their parents to buy them their own spirit box. Dad, of course, said no, because the only time the word _yes _exists in his vocabulary is when Danial Bryan's on _Raw_. They were bummed out, but putting their heads together, they fashioned their own homebrew spirit box from an old Walkman they found in the attic. They tested it out in the basement - AKA the creepiest room in the house - but didn't pick up much except for a few snatchets of song and some guy saying _It's me, Charles Manson _over and over again. _Dude, _Johnny said, wide-eyed with fear, _I think this Manson guy's a ghost_.

Lincoln blew a raspberry. _A ghost wouldn't announce itself over and over again. _

_You're right_.

Next, they took it around the neighborhood in hopes of running into a ghost. They were crouched in the Louds' backyard and listening when Lucy walked up. _What are you doing here?_

_We're hunting ghosts, _Johnny said.

Lucy stared at them with one of her patented blank expressions. _Wicked, can I help? _

Over time, Lucy's friend Haiku joined in, and Lincoln brought in Maggie because God forbid he not be shoved up her butt 24/7. Sergo, tired of listening to the same forty year old rap records with Dad, followed suit, and by the end of the week, they were basically a low-rent Scooby-Doo knock-off wandering around and looking for mysteries to solve. Sergio even had his own catchphrase. _That's scurry, yo. _Every time they were in an abandoned house, a creepy stand of forest, or a deserted building, and there was an unexplained sound, cold spot, or flicker of movement, he'd cover his eyes with his wings and shiver. _That's scurry, yo. _Lincoln got so sick of hearing it that one time he straight up slapped the bird off Johnny's shoulder and called him a punk. _Man up a little bit. _

Johnny looked at him funny. _He's a bird, Linc. _

_No, he's a chicken, _Lincoln said and fixed Sergio with a baleful glare. _A big green chicken._

Aside from traipsing around at random, they set out to investigate every urban legend, reputed haunting, and case of paranormal phenomena in Royal County, their initial preoccupation with communicating beyond the grave leading organically to a broader interest in the supernatural. In those first few weeks, they learned that Royal Woods and the surrounding countryside was _lousy _with supposedly true tales of the bizarre. A cave south of town was said to be home to vampires who caused an outbreak of tuberculosis in the 1880s; numerous people had spotted UFOs and Bigfeet; a man in a rabbit costume was alleged to have attacked several hikers in the seventies (that one was definitely a true story, Lincoln looked it up online); and way back in the eighties, a bunch of farm animals were ripped apart by an unseen predator that left a baffling mix of paw tracks and human prints.

In early May, they spent three hours roaming the dimly lit corridors of St. Eligius, an aging, rundown hospital where entire floors were abandoned and coated in dust, and hallways twisted, turned, and switched back on themselves. St. Eligius, like every other hospital in the world, had a reputation for being haunted. That's to be expected, since people literally die there on the regular, and Lincoln was convinced that they'd run into something.

_Alright, gang, _he said, _let's split up_.

They had just come off the elevator on the sixth floor, two boys, three girls, a rat poking out of a pocket, and a bird quivering in terror.

_Lucy and Haiku, you check out the old psych ward. Johnny, you and Sergio check the old crematorium. Maggie and I will check one of the rooms. _He winked at Maggie, and she shook her head in the coldest and firmest _no _ever.

Sigh.

Despite his high hopes, they found nothing.

He was so bitterly disappointed that he almost gave up ghost hunting.

As with past ventures, though, he climbed back in the saddle and kept going. By the beginning of June, they'd turned over every metaphorical stone and exhausted every haunted house in a five mile radius. There was nothing left.

Then Haiku suggested a, ahem, field trip.

It was a sweltering day in early July, and they were sitting in a big circle on the floor of Lincoln and Johnny's garage playing a half-hearted game of Uno. The A/C was busted again and the house was hotter than Austin vs McMahon. Out here, with the door open, there was at least a breeze; in there, only suffering. They had been brainstorming places to ply their trade for nearly half an hour, but they'd looked everywhere. "We can go to the river," Maggie said.

"Why?" Johnny asked.

"To swim."

Oh.

"Boring," Lincoln said.

Johnny pointed at him. "He's right, you know."

"It's 93 degrees," Maggie said, "can we please forget about the ghosts for a little while?"

"Not until we find one," Lincoln said. "Or a cryptid. Or a wormhole. Or _something_."

Maggie rolled her eyes and made a sound of disgust in the back of her throat, and Lucy sighed. They'd been at it for over a month now and had nothing to show for it. The girls were starting to get bored and if something didn't turn up soon, they'd bail. While that wasn't the end of the world, Lincoln had come to enjoy hanging with Lucy, Maggie, and Haiku, and he wasn't exactly looking forward to their merry band of ghost hunters splitting up for the final time. "Come on, guys, we can't give up now," Lincoln said.

"Yeah," Johnny echoed, "we gotta keep looking."

"We've already looked everywhere," Lucy said. "There isn't a single ghost, zombie, or alien in this town. Just mortals." She shivered as though mortals repulsed her. In her defense, though, they did.

"There's gotta be _something _we missed," Lincoln said. He threw a +4 onto the mess of cards in the center of the circle.

Haiku slapped her own +4 on top of it and he sagged. Darn it. Now he had to draw eight. "Well," she said, "there _is _something, but not in town."

"What?" Lincoln asked hopefully.

Johnny sat up straighter. "Yeah, what is it?"

Looking behind her as though afraid of eavesdroppers, she said, "The Hill People."

"The who?" Johnny asked.

"The Hill People," she repeated. Her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, and everyone leaned in to hear her better. "They're a race of humanoid creatures said to live in the hills around Scratchy Bottom Campground." Her eyes shifted from side to side. "They're seven feet tall, have wings and leathery skin, and their eyes are big...black...bug like. Their teeth are knives and their claws can cut through bone like it's butter."

Her voice cast a dark, mesmerizing pall, and Lncoln swallowed thickly.

"No one knows where they came from, but the first sighting was reported a hundred years ago. A guy out walking in the woods saw one hanging upside down from a tree branch, and when he tried to leave, it opened its eyes, let out a shriek like a dying baby, and flew at him. He barely escaped with his life."

Sergio covered his ears with his wings. "That's scurry, yo."

For once, Lincoln agreed.

"Every once in a while, a hiker or backpacker will glimpse one in the trees, and every so often, one will go missing. If their family's lucky, some of their body parts will turn up. Most don't because the Hill People eat every last scrap of flesh."

Lincoln and Johnny exchanged a nervous glance, Maggie looked mildly concerned, and Lucy was as inscrutable as ever. "Is that true?" Johnny asked.

"It's _very _true."

Lincoln considered Haiku's story for a long time before speaking. It was creepy and all, but the more he thought about it, the more he was sure that she was either lying or relating an outlandish old myth. He was born in the morning, but not _this _morning. He could buy ghosts and even Bigfoot, but leathery bat-creatures that ate people? That might work in a horror movie, but come on, if there were really monsters nomming on tourists in the woods, do you think Scratchy Bottom would still be open?

No, it'd be closed and no one would go anywhere near it.

On the flip side, this might be the gang's last big hurrah.

Hmmm.

He had an idea.

That night, he and Johnny approached their father.

Esconded in his armchair like a king on throne, Dad stared up at the wall-mounted TV, where _Fall Brawl: War Games 1995_ unfolded one boring, pre-NWO era match at a time. Hull Cogan, Dandy Savage, Lex Loser, and Ring (short for Ringworm) battled the Dungeon of Doom in a double steel cage encompassing two rings. Dad cheered every time the faces got a good turn and booed for the heels, just like he was programmed to do. "Hey, uh, Dad?" Lincoln asked.

Dad shot him a withering look. "What? I'm busy."

Lincoln and Johnny looked at each other. _You take over, _Lincoln said with his eyes. Johnny rubbed the back of his neck. "Do you, uh, wanna go camping?"

Like a shot, Dad jumped to his, and Lincoln and Johnny fell back a step like heel Hogan meeting his match in Billy Kidman - LOL. "Hotdog I do!"

And that, in a nutshell, was how Lincoln, Johnny, Lucy, Haiku, Sergio, and Maggie wound up at Scratchy Bottom Campground, a sprawling parcel of land spread out between the Ojibwe Lake and the foothills of the Lackawanna Mountains. Dense forest crowded against its southwest border and the lake lie to the north, the land sloping down to its muddy banks. Their campsite was along a gravel lane in the middle of camp, the woods off to their right and the lake to their left. Campers and RVs occupied overgrown lots, some with skirting, lawn ornaments, and power hook-ups. These belonged to what Dad called the lifers - the rugged and hardy souls who lived here either full time or only during the summer. The airstream trailer next to their campsite belonged to an old couple; the man dressed in cargo shorts and sandals and the woman wore white slacks and flowery Hawwian style shirts that made her look like something from _GTA: Vice City_.

They set their tents up around the fire pit in a rough semi-circle: Lincoln and Johnny shared one, Lucy, Maggie, and Haiku took another, and Dad's stood proudly in the center, all dormers, overhangs, and vaulted mesh windows. It was bigger than most people's houses. "Why is your dad's tent so...extra?" Haiku asked.

"Because he's extra," Johnny said.

As soon as they were finished setting up, Dad emerged from his tent wearing blue trunks, a glittery Ric Flair robe, wrestling boots, and a plastic NWA World Heavyweight Championship belt around his flabby waist. He put his hands on his hips and looked left, then right as if greeting a multitude of rabid fans packed into the Charlotte Coliseum just to get a glimpse at him. Maggie arched her brow, Lincoln blushed, Johnny rolled his eyes, Lucy didn't do anything, and Haiku looked at him with pity. Dad strutted out and grabbed a towel. "I'm going to the lake, you slapnuts coming?"

Lincoln answered before anyone else could. "No, you go ahead, we wanna go on a hike."

"Have fun and be safe," Dad said. He passed in a swish of robe and was gone.

"Alright, guys," Lincoln said, "let's go."

They made their way through the campground in a big group, Sergio perched on Johnny's shoulder and Cinnamon poking out of Lincoln's pocket to look around. At the edge of the compound, tall pine trees towered into the cloudless blue sky. A dry wind scoured their faces like sandpaper and the harsh chirping of cicadas found their years, reminding Lincoln of a science fiction movie he'd seen where the aliens communicated with clicks.

Shiver.

Several different trails lead into the woods and Lincoln did some quick math. "Alright, gang, let's split up. Johnny, you and Sergio go together. Lucy, you and Haiku take the middle path. Maggie and I go west."

"Of course you pick Maggie to go with _you_," Johnny said.

Yeah, duh, she was his girlfriend after all.

"Just go with Sergio."

Johnny sighed. "Fine."

"Keep your eyes peeled for anything funny," Lincoln said.

Haiku said the Hill People were active at night and slept in the day, sometimes in the boughs of the trees in which they made their nests but more often in a network of caves underground. The plan was to come back after dark, when there was a higher chance of glimpsing one...if they existed, which Lincoln doubted. This was a dry run to familiarize themselves with the lay of the land and _maybe _find something.

What, Lincoln didn't know. Tracks? Droppings?

Whatever there was to find, he guessed.

"Do you believe Haiku's story?" Lincoln asked.

Maggie took his hand and threaded their fingers together. "Not really," she said, "I just came to hang out with you."

Rays of sunlight fell through the treetops and dappled the ground, and swaying branches sent shadows scattering across the trail. The landscape stayed relatively flat for the first half mile, then became steeper. As they walked, Lincoln and Maggie played I Spy. "I Spy, with my little eye," Lincoln said, "something beautiful."

"You?" Maggie deadpanned.

Lincoln grinned. "You're good."

She gave his hand a playful squeeze.

"I Spy," Maggie said, "something cute and sweet."

"That flower over there?"

"No, dummy, you."

Lincoln laughed. "I was trying _not _to pick the obvious."

"Because you're a boy," Maggie said, "and all boys do is play games."

"Pfft, okay."

Elsewhere, Johnny dropped onto a canned rock flanking the path and looked around. The interlacing branches overhead blotted out most of the sun's light and the wind slipping through the trees sounded eerily like the ghostly whisper of a thousand dead voices calling from beyond the grave. He swallowed thickly and glanced at Sergio, who shook like a leaf. "This place, like, gives me the creeps."

"Me too," Sergio chattered.

Johnny reached into his jacket and brought out a Ziploc baggie filled with Chex mix. He opened it, took out a pretzel, and held it out. Sergio took it in his beak, tossed his head back, and swallowed it whole. "Hey, you think Haiku was telling the truth about there being Hill People and stuff?"

By way of answering, Sergio pressed his wings to his ears.

Right.

A twig snapped behind them, and Johnny rocketed to his feet with a cry of terror. Sergio dug his talons into Johnny's shoulders, perhaps to keep from being wrenched off by a bloodthirsty Hill Person, then, in a flutter of wings, he took off, squawking and piddling. Johnny spun around, and Sergio hovered above the trail, matching expressions of horror on their faces. Something rustled in the bushes, and Johnny's heart blasted. Oh, no, it was coming, all wings and fangs and hate. He was too young to die, he was too _handsome _to die, he was too girlfriendless to die.

"This is it, Sergo," he said and squeezed his eyes closed. "At least we'll go out together."

No answer.

"Sergio?"

He creaked one eye open.

The parrot was gone.

"Gee, Lincoln was right, you _are _a chicken."

The bushes shook again, and Johnny tensed. Alright, guess I'll die alone. Tell my mother I -

Something popped out of the brush and Johnny screamed.

A tiny gray rabbit with a cottony tail looked inquisitively up at him, its whiskers twitching. Johnny breathed a sigh of relief and pressed his hand to his. "Whew, for a second there I thought -"

Issuing a rasping hiss, the rabbit sprang at him.

Screaming, Johnny ran, the angry vermin hot on his heels.

A mile east, separated from Johnny from Johnny by a rolling sea of oaks, pines, and bogs, Haiku and Lucy came to a halt. "Did you hear that?" Haiku asked.

"It sounded like screaming," Lucy said.

"Girlish screaming," Haiku agreed.

They looked at each other. "Johnny."

Rolling their eyes, they turned around and started back to camp, meeting Johnny in the meadow between the tree line and the edge of the campground. He lay curled up in a fetal position, shaking and babbling about killer rabbits from outer space. Lincoln and Maggie came rushing out of the forest and all four of them stood around Johnny. "What happened?" Lincoln asked.

"Rabbit...tried to kill me...barely escaped."

Maggie looked around. "Where's Sergio?"

"He abandoned me," Johnny said.

They helped Johnny to his feet and led him back to camp, Lincoln patting his back. "There, thee, it's okay, we'll protect you from the big bad rabbi."

The girls snickered and Johnny flushed.

At camp, Dad and Sergio sat before a fire and vibed to Dr. Dre while roasting hotdogs on the ends of sticks. Johnny pulled roughly away from Lincoln and stalked over to the bird. "You left me to die," he charged.

Sergio, though much shorter, somehow managed to look down his beak at him. "But you didn't, did you?"

Flushing red, Johnny balled his fist and sprang, but Lincoln caught him around the neck and put him in a sleeper hold that came as reflexively as drawing breath. "Dude, stop."

Johnny thrashed against him in an attempt to escape but went limp when Dad's voice thundered forth. "Knock it off."

He glared at Johnny, then at Lincoln. Lincoln released his brother and stepped back, hands raising (_hey, dad, don't shoot_). The girls went deathly silent, and the air crackled with suspense. Then Dad turned back to the fire and rotated his weiner. "Dogs are in the cooler."

* * *

That night, under the watchful eye of the full moon, Lincoln and Johnny stole out of their tent and met Maggie, Lucy, and Haiku on the dirt road running before the campsite. Owls hooted to each other from perches unseen and a cool wind blew over the land, knocking branches forlornly together. The fire had burned down to a bed of glowing coals and chainsaw snores emanated from Dad's tent. After his dust up with Johnny earlier, Sergio punked out and stayed with Dad. Good riddance, Lincoln thought.

Quiet so as not to wake Dad or any of the other sleepers along the road, Lincoln and crew stole across the campground at a crouch. At the woods, they stopped and Lincoln unshouldered his pack. He unzipped it, rummaged around inside, and took out a flashlight, which he passed off to Johnny. He handed one to each girl, then took the last one for himself. He clicked it on, and a clean white beam carved the night. "We stick together for this one," he whispered. The wind roared in the trees and the nearest campsite was 500 yards away, but he didn't want to take any chances. "Me and Johnny will lead the way in case any Hill People come. That way you can get away while they eat us."

Beside him, Johnny gulped.

"Come on."

They started up the trail, the woods closing around them like a wicker noose. Inside the dense thicket, the moonlight filtered away and the breeze fell slack. Lincoln swept the flashlight back and forth, chasing shadows off the path, and Johnny whipped his head left and right, his teeth chattering lightly together. "I-I-I wish S-S-Sergio was h-h-here," he stammered.

Ahead, the path bent to the left and dipped down into a dry creek bed. Lincoln shone the flashlight on the trees on either side. Apart from the occasional hoot and the soft, ever present cricket song, there were no sounds but the wind.

In the safety of day, Lincoln didn't believe the Hill People were real. Here, now, in the darkness, the world black and endless on all sides of him, he wasn't so sure. Anything could be crouching anywhere, waiting to strike - a Hill Person, a vampire, a Mormon missionary. Something crashed through the underbrush on his right, and his heart jumped into his throat. A pair of shining green eyes observed from the left, and he spun around to point the beam at it.

Only a possum.

"Keep close," he said over his shoulder, trying to keep the apprehension from his voice and largely succeeding.

No one spoke, wary of making noise.

They were on the other side of the creek, the path climbing into the hills, when Maggie broke the silence. "Uh, where's Lucy?"

Lincoln's heart jogged and he turned around. Everyone faced Maggie, their lights interrogating her. "What?"

"Lucy...she was right behind me a minute ago," Maggie said.

A quick headcount confirmed it. Lucy was gone.

"Lucy?" Lincoln called. The trees and thick vegetation prevented his voice from echoing, rending it flat...hollow...dead.

Haiku cupped her hand to her mouth. "Lucy?"

"What do we do?" Johnny asked.

Lincoln missed a beat. "We'll retrace our steps."

Taking up position at the head of the pack, Lincoln gripped his flashlight tightly and swept the beam back and forth. Haiku and Maggie shouted for Lucy and Johnny hugged himself. "A Hill Person got her, man," he muttered, sounding like he was going to cry, "it ate her whole."

"Calm down," Lincoln said, "nothing got her, she just got lost. She's probably sitting in the woods enjoying the dark."

While that sounded like something Lucy would do, Lincoln didn't believe it. She wouldn't just wander off like that.

Maybe she fell and got knocked out.

Yeah, that sounded plausible. They'd come across her any -

"Guys," Maggie said, "Haiku's missing."

Lincoln and Johnny wheeled around at once. "What?" they asked in unison.

Maggie twisted in a quick semi-circle, her eyes flicking here and there. "She was just right here."

Okay, this was not good. Two of their friends were missing.

Johnny shook and panic throbbed in the center of Lincoln's chest. He took a series of deep, calming breaths. "Alright," he said, "we go back to camp and get Dad, Hurry and stay together."

They started down the trail, Lincoln in front; he held onto the flashlight, ready to brain anything that came his way, and stepped quickly, sweat sheening his forehead. They had just crossed the creek bed when Maggie let out a high pitched shriek. "HILL PEOPLE!"

Johnny wailed and Lincoln took off like a shot, his survival instincts taking over. "Wait up!" Johnny screamed but Lincoln didn't, couldn't, his feet were flying over the ground and his arms were pumping, propelling him forward. He caught flashes of movement on both sides and ran harder, the back of his neck tingling and his heart thundering against his ribs. Ahead, a dark figure jumped out of the woods, and lowering his head, Lincoln ran right through it, knocking it aside.

A moment later, Johnny was right behind him. "IT GOT MAGGIE!"

"NO!"

The trees rustled, and Lincoln imagined Hill People leaping like cats from one to the next in pursuit.

He pushed himself harder, and a moment later, he tripped and went down, Johnny colliding with him and falling too. Their lights hit the ground and rolled away, and in a second, dark shadows surrounded them. GIving voice to his terror, Lincoln clung to his brother, and Johnny did the same.

One of the things picked up the flashlight and held it under its chin.

"Boo," Haiku said.

Lincoln's scream cut off like throwing a switch. Johnny's, however, went on and on until Lincoln shook him.

"You should have seen your faces," Maggie said. She stood over them with her hands on her hips and an evil smile on her lips.

"I've never seen anyone that scared before," Lucy said flatly. "It was actually kind of disturbing."

A joke? It was a JOKE?

Now Lincoln felt stupid. He should have known. There's no such thing as -

A high, mournful wail, like the crying of a baby in pain, rose from somewhere in the higher hills, and everyone froze.

"Uh...let's get out of here," Haiku said.

"Yeah, good idea," Lucy said.

When the cry came again, they bolted and ran all the way back to camp.

Meanwhile, the cry was answered by another, and another, and another still until the whole night was ablaze with fear.


	17. Sour Notes

Johnny Velazquest was musical. When he was barely old enough to sit up without toppling over like a top heavy tree, he would arrange pots, pans, toys, and anything else he could get his hands on across the kitchen floor and beat them with his hands to make music. By the time he graduated from diapers to pull-ups, he was using wooden spoons and singing at the top of his lungs; most of it was gibberish, but 'cute gibberish' per Mom. In first grade, she bought him a child sized acoustic guitar from Wal-Mart and hired a teenage boy from down the street to tutor him. That kid - Zeus the Guitar Lord (who now hosted a public access cable show with fives of viewers) - existed in the hazy mist on the very edge of Johnny's memory, but he remembered every single note, cord, and progression that he taught the way a man instinctively remembers the manners that were instilled in him when he was a child. His lessons formed the foundation of Johnny's musical knowledge and everything he had learned since was built firmly upon it.

During fourth grade, he was taking lessons for three different instruments - guitar, drums, and cowbell. Yes, he had someone teach him how to play the cowbell, and no, it's not as easy as it looks. Once a week, he went over to the Loud house and jammed with Luna; she wasn't a very good teacher, but she could critique his work well enough that she became a vital and indispensable part of the process. He was better at drumming - he joked that it was because he was black and therefore had rhythm - and rigged up a circus-style drum set with attached foot-pedals that he could wear on his back while playing guitar. It was cumbersome but after much pain and practice, he got it down enough that he could do both at the same time, but not if he had to play guitar very fast. It threw him off.

Like the annoying, copycat little brother he was, Lincoln followed suit and started playing music too, only he chose the cello. He said he did it because the cello rocks, dude, but Johnny suspected he was really trying to set himself apart from him while doing the exact same thing. It's like Stephen King and Dean Koontz. Both write the same kind of stuff, only Dean Koontz focuses more on normal suspense while SK is all about supernatural suspense. Gotta differentiate yourself somehow and Lincoln did that by going for the cello, since Johnny already had drums and guitar. Theoretically, he could have become a singer, that way they could actually start a band, but he picked a lame classical instrument instead. Whaddaya gonna do?

Once or twice a week, they practiced in the garage, Lincoln sawing his cello like his life depended on it and Johnny working the drums with his feet and picking his battered blue guitar. It was a castoff Luna gave him; it lay broken under her bed for months before she pulled it out and pawned it off on him rather than throw it away. The neck was broken completely off and it needed new strings. With a little duct tape and elbow grease, it was as good as new.

They covered rock songs, rap songs, and the occasional country ditty. One time they tried to play Hulk Hogan's original WWF theme song Real American, but Dad randomly popped out of a trash can in the corner, fixed them with a withering glare, and shook his head. Fine, God forbid they commit the sacrilege of paying tribute to a fifty year old piece of wrestling entrance music. It was Lincoln's idea, anyway; dude wouldn't admit it, but he liked wrestling. He used to sit on Dad's lap and watch old VHS tapes of WCW Monday Nitro and ECW on TNN when he was a kid. He'd bounce, clap his hands, and laugh when Dad pretended to pick him up for a chokeslam. Johnny hated wrestling. RVD was pretty cool, and Stone Cold, and The Rock, and Booker T, and DDP, and Sting, and Tazz, and Goldberg, and The Hurricane (stand back, there's a hurricane comin' through!), and The Big Boss Man, and Taker, and Samoa Joe, and Big Poppa Pump, and Cody Rhodes, and MJF, triple cage matches were neat, so were war games matches, bra and panties matches - but otherwise, wrestling sucked.

Completely.

Anyway, sometimes they'd head over to Luna's place for a big three person jam sesh. With the guitars, drums, cello, and Mr. Loud accompanying on kazoo, it sounded like the inside of a schizophrenic person's brain. It was fun, though, and that's all that mattered.

Around the end of May, Luna's friends started coming over and joining in. You had Tabby on bass, Sam on keyboard, and Mazzy on drums. Luna played guitar and sang; she wasn't the best at the latter since her voice cracking, but who cared, they were having a good time. They didn't play in tune anyway, everyone kind of did their own thing; it was what it was, and it was cool.

They started off with covers, just like Lincoln and Johnny had done. As an FU to Dad, they did a version of Real American that set the Loud house on fire. Right before they were done, though, Dad exploded through the front door and ran across the street, all 250 pounds of him. Instead of getting mad, though, he made them play it ten times in a row while he banged his head like an eighties metal group. They tried to stop three times but he forced them to keep going. Finally, he got woozy from all the head banging and passed out on the floor. Mr. and Mrs. Loud left him all night until he woke up and staggered home the next morning.

After a couple weeks of doing their own versions of Luna's favorite songs - basically everything by The Sex Pistols, The Clash and a bunch of other British punk stuff - they started writing their own songs, which amounted to a bunch of gibberish that sounded cool when shouted by a throaty, gutteral frontwoman with short brown hair and paper clip earrings. Lincoln and Johnny sat on their front porch one day and wrote a little about everything they saw happening in the neighborhood.

There's an old man sitting in a chair

There's a dog taking a crap over there

Dad's watching WCW again

Russo vs Booker T, guess who's gonna win

Mom's cleaning and telling us to help her out

Says if we don't stop she'll give us a reason to cry and pout

It was garbage but everyone thought it was hysterical; when Luna sang it, she couldn't keep a straight face and wound up laughing for two entire verses.

Everyone got along with each other and had a blast playing together, so it was only natural that they would form a band. It wasn't a consciousness decision - no one ever said alright, today we're officially a supergroup - it just kind of happened, the way one day bleeds into another. They were joking around one afternoon about giving themselves a name and landed on FUN because, hey, that's what it. Luna and Lincoln turned it into a backonym for FUNKY, UNDERRATED, and GNARLY. They gathered once a week, banged on their instruments, and then went on their merry way, no pressure, no stress - they weren't playing gigs for fame or profit, they just did it for the sheer thrill of music and camaraderie.

AKA the only reason anyone should do anything artistic.

They did play one show together at some guy's birthday. Luna and Sam knew him from school and he wanted cheap live music, which is why they got the gig in the first place. Since they were in the big times now, Luna hired a roadie named Chunkette. She was a big, burly British woman with a nose ring and tattoos. She looked like a bull crossed with a bear, and maybe Johnny was mistaken, but she kept batting her eyes at Lincoln like she thought he was cute.

Anyway, on a balmy afternoon in mid-July, Lincoln and Johnny grabbed their gear and trekked across the street, sweat trickling down the backs of their necks and the sun beating down on them like a bulb in an Easy Bake oven. The gang was getting set up in Luna's garage. Mazzy sat behind her drum kit and tapped her sticks on the symbols, Tabby tuned her bass, and Sam played a quick chord on her board (hey, that rhymed). Johnny didn't see Luna anywhere, but didn't think anything of it; this was her house after all, she could show up at the very last second.

"Hey, guys," Sam greeted.

"Aye, mate," Tabby said with a nod.

Mazzy pointed her drum stick at Johnny (that's how drummers say hello), then at Lincoln, pulling back a little so that the tip of the stick pointed up at the ceiling. That's how drummers greet non-drummers they like. They greet drummers that they don't like with a middle finger, and non drummers they don't like by plunging their stick into the other person's eye.

Probably.

Johnny didn't really know, he just made stuff up as he went along.

Lincoln dragged a chair over, sat, and opened the case he kept his cello in. He took it out, handling it with the reverence of an obsessive curator handling a rare and ancient artifact, and Johnny got his drum set up, connecting the foot pedals to the rig by way of plastic tubing. When he was done, it looked like one of those robot alien things from War of the Worlds. With his paper bag hat, super ultra utility belt, and half a Spider-Man mask (another passing fad that he'd probably jettison and forget about in two or three weeks), he looked K-E-W-L cool. How, oh how could he still be single?

He strapped the drums to his back and picked the guitar up. The front of it was covered in random stickers. The Chiquita banana logo, a sticker from a pack of socks got him, a scratch and sniff butt, a cat's face at the end of a rainbow, Bernie Sanders, GIANT METEOR 2020, and his personal favorite: MY CHILD IS AN HONOR ROLL STUDENT AT ROYAL COUNTY ELEMENTARY. He ripped a sick power chord; oh, yeah, that's the stuff.

"Hey, man, nice mask," Mazzy said.

"Yeah," Sam snickered, "it's really cool."

"Aye, mate, ye look mighty handsome in it, wot," Tabby added.

Johnny grinned smugly and Lincoln. "And you said it looked dumb."

Lincoln rolled his eyes and shook his head as if to say whatever. Lincoln was what they call a normie. He had no pizzaz. He was Patrick in that episode where he, Spongebob, Plankton, and Squidward make a band, wearing a basic ponytail and calling it cool. Johnny, meanwhile, was Spongebob - afo, platform shoes, rosey cheeks, glitter, goofy smile, and a lust for life and looking cool that made him the most fashionable guy in town.

"Where's the other half?" Mazzy asked.

"I'll wear it tomorrow on the other side."

Mazzy, Sam, and Tabby burst out laughing, Mazzy shaking her head, Sam bending over her keyboard, and Tabby slapping her guitar. See how much joy his fashion sense brought them. He arched his brow at Lincoln, and Lincoln's nostrils flared. "Dude, they're laughing at you, not with you. You're not cool. You're the least cool person I know. I'd rather a video of me marking out backstage at Raw go viral than to be seen with you dressed like that. You're embarrassing yourself and you're embarrassing me."

"Look how jealous he is," Johnny said and shook his head, "poor kid."

Before Lincoln could reply, Luna came in through the side door with a paper clutched in her hands. "Hey, guys!" she shouted. "Check it out!"

She stood in the middle of the floor, and everyone else gathered around.

"WKBBL is looking for local artists to record original songs," Luna said giddily, "and, check it, if it does well enough, they'll send it to their parent company and get it played on radio stations across the country." She looked up from the flyer with a crooked smile and a gleam in her eye. "You guys wanna record a hit?"

"Yeah!" everyone shouted in unison.

"Alright!" Luna cried. "FIrst order of business. Writing one."

They sat in a big circle in the middle of the floor, each with a piece of paper. Luna's idea was for everyone to write something then pick the best one. Lincoln and Johnny collaborated, coming up with silly lyrics that made them both giggle like schoolgirls. Mazzy tapped the end of her pencil against her chin the entire time before giving up ("Man, I ain't no writer.") Tabby banged her head to her own genius, and Sam cooked something of her own up that probably featured an extended keyboard solo. Luna, the best writer of the bunch, kept starting and stopping, the happy glow in her eyes fading and her teeth beginning to worry her bottom lip. Balled up pieces of paper littered the floor around her, and the color drained from her face, leaving it ashy and wan.

An hour later, everyone read their songs aloud. Johnny recited his and Lincoln's because he liked the attention. Sam, Mazzy, and Tabby laughed their butts off, Luna, however, just facepalmed. "Dude," she said with strained patience, "that was funny and all, but we gotta get serious here. We can't goof off, alright? This is the real deal, guys, get it together."

Next, Sam read her composition, and Johnny couldn't lie: It was the best freaking song he ever heard. It was deep, it was emotional, and it had one heck of a hook.

To everyone's shock, Luna hated it.

"Bro," she sighed, "t-that's not gonna work either. Look, it's good but...I dunno, it's missing something."

Tabby's was next. It was fast, it was furious, it sounded like something an old school punk band would thrust onto conservative society at their sneering, rebellious apex. Tabby's stuff was Luna's absolute favorite to play and sing, and Johnny was sure it'd be a shoo in.

It wasn't.

Luna opened her mouth, then closed it again, then opened, then closed. Next, she scrunched her lips from side to side, grimaced, ticked her head like a pendulum, and shifted uncomfortably. "I dunno," she said at length, "I like it, but I don't think it's hit material, man, not in 2020."

Wow, really? Luna was passing that song up?

Actually, she didn't. "I dunno, man," she worried, "we can try it out."

Five minutes later, everyone was in place, the door closed to cut down on outside noise. Lisa and Lana sat side by side at a bank of sophisticated looking recording equipment, both wearing headphones. Luna stood behind the mic and did a bunch of vocal exercises that made her sound like she was gurgling razor blades. She smacked her lips, wetted them with her tongue, and opened her mouth, only to snap it closed again and repeat the process. Everyone waited patiently, then kind of patiently, then not so patiently, and finally very impatiently. Sam shifted her weight from one foot to the other, Johnny tuned and returned his guitar, and Tabby slapped a rhythmic tempo on her bass. Mazzy cocked her head and listened, then started to play it on the drums. Lincoln picked it up on cello, and Johnny strummed his guitar.

Luna flippin' lost it. "GUYS!"

Red face and panting, lips pulled back from her teeth, she whipped her head back and forth, shooting everyone with a hostile glare that killed their budding song mid-beat. "This is no time for improv."

That knocked Johnny for a loop. "But you're the queen of improv," he said. "You told me that jam seshes are -"

"This is different," she snapped. "We gotta act professional now. We got one shot at making it and if we screw around, we're gonna lose it."

Lincoln and Johnny exchanged a confused glance. Were they really hearing this? Luna always said that music was about having fun and...something about unlocking the artist within and dreaming out loud. This was a complete 180 and Johnny thought it was some BS. "That's not what music is -"

Luna shot him daggers, and he fell back a step. If looks could kill, he'd be dead on the floor and chopped into finely diced, bite-sized pieces. "Okay, fine, whatever you want."

She glared at him for a moment, then cleared her throat. "Ready. Lise?"

"Affirmative."

"Alright," Luna said, "on four. One...two...three...four."

Everyone started to play.

Luna turned red again. "STOP!"

The band fell silent. Unshouldering her guitar, she walked over to Mazzy. "Your timing's a little off, can you please fix it?"

"But we barely -"

"Our...one...chance…" Luna hissed through her teeth.

Mazzy held her sticks vertical, pointed at the ceiling. Hey, man, sure whatever you say.

Next, Luna moved onto Sam. She looked the blonde up and down, and Sam flashed a sheepish smile. "How long have we been bros, Sam?" Luna asked.

Sam thought for a moment. "Uh...since kindergarten."

From what Luna had told Johnny, she and Sam had been best friends since they were six and did everything together. They even shared the same boyfriend in sixth grade rather than fight over him.

"And in all that time, I've never heard you play as trash as that."

Sam flinched and Tabby furrowed. "Harsh, mate."

"You didn't do much better," Luna said.

When she stood in front of Johnny, he swallowed, knowing already that some way, somehow his work wasn't good enough. "Okay...take the drum thing off and just play guitar, alright? You and Mazzy aren't skilled enough to play in tune, so you're stumbling over each other and ruining the take."

Okay, that was fair enough. She was trying to accomplish a more radio friendly sound and having two moderately skilled drummers playing slightly off time from each other would ruin a take. "Okay," he said. He shrugged out of the drum kit and sat it against the wall. "There."

Finally, she stood over Lincoln. "Your cello playing rocks, dude, but there's no place for it in this song. Sit this one out."

Lincoln blinked. "What? Are you serious? You're kicking me out?"

"No," Luna said, "you're still in the band, you're just out of the song."

"THAT'S THE SAME THING!"

Tabby cleared her throat. "I wrote it specifically so the cello could be in it, mate. It'll work if you give it a bloody chance."

Luna spun on her heels. "IT SOUNDS LIKE TRASH! DO YOU WANNA GET ON THE RADIO OR NOT?"

For a second, Tabby seemed to think, then her face darkened. She unplugged her guitar from the amp, walked over to the roll top door, and lifted it. "Where are you going?" Luna asked.

"I'm out, mate, this ain't what I signed up for."

Luna looked shocked, then recovered. "Fine, you're out of the band. Enjoy playing birthday parties for the rest of your life."

Waving her middle finger, Tabby left.

"Anyone else wanna go?" Luna asked the remains of her band.

No one spoke up.

"We don't need her anyway," Luna said. She grabbed a bass from the corner and shoved it at Lincoln. "You're back in the song."

"But I don't know how -"

Luna bared her teeth. "You better or you're fired."

"Lune," Sam said softly, "relax, it's not -"

"Yes it is," Luna said. "We have a shot at making it big and we need to take it. Now, everyone get in place."

Johnny almost pointed out that Luna couldn't fire anone since she wasn't the boss and the band wasn't hers, but he wanted to be on the radio, so he kept quiet.

"On four."

Four came, and everyone started to play. This time they made it almost to the lyrics before Luna called cut. "Linc, your bass is butt, bro, sorry."

"I told you, I'm not good at bass."

Luna sighed. "Well, you gotta be good. Sam, stop hitting the keys so hard. It's making a clunk noise."

Sam took a deep breath.

This process repeated five times. By the end of it, everyone was tense and on edge. Sam's eye twitched, Mazzy's hands shook, and Lincoln's teeth chattered like he was cold. Luna kept stopping mid song because Lincoln was screwing up, Sam was hitting sour notes, her voice didn't sound "good enough", the lyrics sucked - basically every excuse she could dredge up to bust everyone's balls, including her own.

After a while, Johnny realized something.

He wasn't having fun anymore.

"We gotta tighten up," Luna said, "if we want that -"

"If we want that shot," he finished. He was hot, tired, and his half mask was making his face itch, but it was stuck and wouldn't come off. Sweat soaked into his paper bag and his utility belt seemed to get heavier all the time. "Well, you know what? I don't. I do this to cut loose and have fun with my friends. I don't care about fame or getting on the radio. A very wise woman once told me that music was about unlocking the artist within and dreaming out loud, and I believed her. Now she's a fame hungry ego monster. Press F for respects."

He took his guitar off.

Luna started to respond, but everyone voiced their agreement. "Yeah, Lune, sorry," Sam said, "but this is totally bogus."

Mazzy stood up. "Yeah, I'm goin' home."

Grabbing his drum, Johnny followed Lincoln out the door. Luna stood in the middle of the garage, looking dumbstruck, and was still there when the door closed on her.

* * *

That evening, Johnny and Lincoln were sitting on their porch after dinner when Johnny got a text from Luna asking them to come over. They hemmed and hawed, since they had kind of a falling out with her, but finally got up and crossed the street. Mazzy, Sam, and Tabby were there too. "Did you guys get a text?" Tabby asked.

"Yeah," Sam said.

"Where's Luna?" Mazzy asked.

As if on cue, Luna came through the side door and walked to the middle of the garage without meeting anyone's eyes. "Thanks for coming, guys," she said.

"What's this about?" Johnny asked.

"I wanted to apologize," she said. "I got carried away and I forgot what music's all about. I acted like a butt and I'm sorry. It was totally uncool of me."

Everyone looked at each other, their faces varying shades of sympathy, then all moved in for a big harem style group hug with Luna at the center. All was forgiven and forgotten, and afterwards, they played Tabby's song the way it was meant to be played.

And you know what? It was a lot more fun than being on the radio.


	18. Lola and Johnny's Big Day

Johnny Velazquest loved Butterfingers. Like, seriously, yo, those things were the best. So crunchy. So chocolatey. Butterfingers were a man's treat. They weren't all soft and soggy like the stuff his white-haired brother from the same mother ate. Lincoln had limp wristed teeth that couldn't bite very hard or something (funny, considering they were so big and jagged), and therefore, he went for junk like gummy worms.

Johnny was a manly man though, a real alpha-Chad in a soyboy world. Next to Lincoln, he was basically Rambo. Then there was Mr. "Pink Apron" Loud and, ugh, worst of all, Dad. Dad was a chubby, middle-aged man who sat in a Lazy-Boy and watched fitter and more athletically gifted men pull off death-defying stunts in the ring. He stuffed his face with nachos and hot wings in front of _Dynamite _and unironically critized wrestlers' work. _He blew that spot, _he'd say around a mouthful of motzerella sticks. _He's sloppy and lazy, Cody should fire him. _Like, Dad, you couldn't even get through the ropes. You are literally less in shape than Andre the Giant and he was 520 pounds. Shut up.

Johnny, on the other hand, was _the _man. He wore a paper bag on his head. He had goggles. He had a utility belt. He sometimes wore half a Spider-Man mask. He could do literally everything. Some bullies one time said he was on the spectrum. Yeah, the awesome spectrum.

Johnny loved Butterfingers because they were awesome just like him, is what I'm saying. Every afternoon on the way home from school, he and Lincoln stopped at Flip's and loaded up on snacks with their allowance money. Lincoln wasted his hard earned bread on baby candy like Hersrhey bars while Johnny went right to the Butterfingers. Flip's was one of the only games in town that had the Super Ultra King Size Butterfingers. Johnny bought as many as he could and always kept one in a little holster on his belt for when he was hungry on the go. Strutting through the halls of Royal County Elementary in a paper bag and a partial face covering, a Butterfinger sticking out of his mouth like a fat cigar, he was the top of the heap, the King of Kool, the Sultan of Swell, and every one of his subjects bowed before him in awe and reverence. _Hey, loser, _the boys said. The girls shook their heads and rolled their eyes. Lincoln backed away slowly and stayed one step behind so as not to be overwhelmed and rendered invisible in Johnny's epic presence.

Johnny had many admierers, even if none of them wished to step forward. Take the Loud girls, for instance. Most of them wanted to be his girlfriend. Unfortunately, they were too young for him, except for Lynn, and he had to be honest here: He wasn't into her one bit. With her short hair and checkerboard mouth, she wasn't a very attractive girl. Hey, she was an awesome person and Johnny loved being her friend, but when he looked at her, his heartbeat didn't speed up the way he imagned it should. It didn't do that for any girl, come to think of it, except for Ms. DeMartino. She was a real fox. _Una papa gigante. _That was Spanish for _a real fox. _She had soft brown skin, chocolate brown eyes, shimmering brown hair - umf, his brown lil princess. C'mon, mama, we're both POC, let's DOP in the AOG.

Johnny had no idea what that meant but it sounded good.

Johnny liked her a lot, but he liked Butterfingers more. Butterfingers were a food of the gods and he made sure to have a huge stash at any given time. He kept it in a box under his bed, hidden beneath a bunch of old comic books. Lincoln wasn't quite the sissy Johnny made him out to be, and he _would _eat one of Johnny's Butterfingers if he found it lying around. Dad had a huge sweet tooth, and when he was out of cupcakes and brownies, he'd break into Lincoln and Johnny's room and suck up any morsel of chocolate he could find, even if it was in the trash can. The last time Johnny counted, there were seventeen Butterfingers in that box, forming a delcious harem. Every so often, he would take the box out and stare into its depths, his tongue licking his chops. Sometimes, he took one out and cuddled it as he fell asleep.

Johnny sure did love his Butterfingers...which is why he lost it on the morning of July 18 when he pulled the box out only to find it empty. His heart, filled with joy just a moment before, sank into the pit of his stomach and his eyes widened in horror. _W-What? WHERE ARE THEY? _He picked the box up and dumped it, like maybe they were hiding and needed to be jolted loose, but nothing dropped out. He tossed the box aside and crawled under the bed, thinking they may have fallen out somehow, but still, nothing. Bro, what the bleep?

Johnny knelt there, hands in his lap, and thought. Okay, okay, the last time he remembered seeig them, they were right here. What could have happened? Did Lincoln take them?

Johnny didn't think so. If Lincoln was involved, he wouldn't have taken all of them. He would have grabbed one, maybe two, but not seventeen.

Johnny's brow lowered. Dad.

Johny got to his feet and went downstairs, where Dad sat in his armchair and ate raw cookie dough from a tube. On TV, Vince McMahon sported a black eye and looked soberly into the camera. "I didn't bleep Bret, Bret bleeped Bret."

Johnny stood over his father with his hands on his hips and asked where his Butterfingers were. Dad's bafflement was genuine - the man couldn't lie worth a bleep so Johnny believed him. Hmmm...where were they, then?

Johnny was just going back upstairs when his phone buzzed with a text.

_Johnny, kom 2 my hows I have ur buturfeengers_. _Lola_

Johnny's brow furrowed. So Lola was the dastardly scoundral who stole his Butterfingers.

Johnny would not stand for this. In his room, he dressed in a pair of black pants and a black shirt, and pulled his utility belt on. He shrugged into his olive coat'o'many pockets, slipped his satchel over one shoulder (bullies called it a man purse, and in return, he called them an ambulance), and donned his Spider-Man half mask, covering one side of his face because only sissies cover their whole face. He wanted Lola to know exactly who he was, to look him dead in the eye and realize that she had transgressed too far when she took his candy.

Johnny pulled his shoes on, went downstairs, and crossed the street, making no attempt to hide himself. He wanted her to know he was coming and to quake in mortal terror. He climbed the steps, knocked on the door, and waited. A moment later, Lori answered.

"Johnny? Literally what do you want?"

Johnny cleared his throat. "I'm here to get my Butterfingers back from Lola."

Johnny tensed himself, ready for a fight; all Louds were potential enemies since families stick together. Messing with Lola could incur the wrath of them all.

Johnny was surprised, then, when Lori rolled her eyes. "The little creep's in the back."

Johnny tipped his paper bag in thanks and went around to the backyard. Rows and rows of mixed-matched chairs faced a white garden arch through which twsted strands of ivy. A piece of cardboard lay in the grass before it, as if waiting for someone to come along and breakdance upon it. Johnny rolled his eyes because his father would totally try. A gallery of silent stuffed animals - bears, zebras, unicorns, rag dolls, and action figures - kept inferna watch over the arch, their eyes dark and lifeless and their expressions fixed.

Johnny was reminded of moves he'd seen where the dead came back to life, and a shiver went down his spine.

"Joooooohnnnnnyyyyy!"

Johnny's blood ran cold and he spun on his heels, his hands going up in an open-palmed karate gesture. Lola, in a flowing white dress, came down the porch steps, a long lace trane trailing over the grass. "Hey~" She batted her eyelashes.

Johnny blinked. "Lola, what's going on here?"

"Johnny, we're getting married, silly."

Johnny's confusion deepened. They were? "What do you mean we're getting married?"

Johnny listened as Lola, now standing before him and gazing up at him with lovestruck eyes. "I've decided that my love for you cannot wait until I'm older, so we're going to be married immediately, then we're going to live in that house and raise a family." She pointed to a plastic play house near the fence, all pink and grimy.

Johnny's head spun. "Look, Lola, I'm not marrying you, just give me back my Butterfingers and I won't be forced to destroy you."

"Johnny," Lola hissed, eyes burning, "you're going to marry me and that is _final_."

Johnny sighed. It looked like he was gonna have to open a can of -

Johnny was on his knees with his arm wrenched behind his back before he even knew Lola was on top of him. She pulled his arm up, between his shoulder blades, and hot pain shot into his shoulder. Lola's rank breath broke across the side of his throat, and Johnny cried out in fear because he was certain that she was going to rip it out with her teeth. "You're going to marry me," she said through her teeth, "and then you're going to make me a mommy, then you are going to spend the next 70 years of your life doing what I say, when I say it, do you understand me, Johnny?"

Johnny thrashed and tried to break her hold, but the little girl was too strong. He was manly and buff and muscular and all that other stuff, how could Lola defeat him? "Fine," he blurted, "just please stop hurting me."

Johnny's face hit the ground when Lola shoved him forward. She got to her feet and stood over him with a gloating, gap-toothed smile. "I'm glad we see eye to eye, hubby, now get inside and get dressed. I am _not _marrying a man in a bomber jacket and half a mask."

Johnny had no choice but to follow her orders. Five minutes later, he stood in the middle of Leni and Lori's room in a perfect T-pose, dressed in only his boxer shorts and blushing furiously. Leni stood before him and stroked her chin, a thoughtful expression on her face. "I'm, like, really nervous because weddings are totes a big deal. I hope Lucy's suit looks nice."

Johnny stiffened when Lucy came in. "Here," she said, "I took this off a cadaver in Young Mort -" her words cut off when she saw half naked Johnny. A bomb blast of crimson splashed across her face and she started to open and close her mouth like a fish. Leni took the suit away and had Johnny dress in it, then she hemmed it. It was black and sleek and fit him perfectly.

Johnny didn't like it.

Johnny followed Leni into the kitchen where all of the other Loud girls were gathered. Luan, Luna, and Lisa baked a cake, while Lana tugged uncomfortably at the hem of her white skirt. She was the flower girl and didn't look like she wanted to be such any more than Johnny wanted to be the groom. "This dress sucks, can I take it off?"

Johnny sighed. "No," Leni said, "it looks totes cute."

Johnny stood there, trying to think of a way out, but it was too late. Leni pushed him toward the door like a POW. He took a deep breath, ashamedly lowered his eyes, and marched down the aisle. Luan stood on the cardboard with a leather bound book in her hands. "I'm an ordained minister in Clowntology," she said, "that means I can marry people."

Johnny took a deep breath. Great. Just what he wanted.

Johnny didn't have to wait long for his blushing bride to appear. Luna struck in _Here Comes the Bride _on her guitar and Johnny turned his head. Lola came out the back door, face covered in a veil and holding a bouquet of flowers. Lana went ahead of her, tossing flower petals in the aisle and looking like she hated life, and the other sisters sat in the gallery, all creepy smiles. Didn't these bozos realize that child marriage is illegal? And immoral?

Johnny looked away when Lola stopped in front of him. "Dearly beloved," Luan intoned, "we are gathered here today to join these two people in holy comedy. Lola Loud and Johnny...uh's your last name again?"

Johnny told her. "Right," she said, "Lola, do you take this -"

Johnny was not surprised by how quickly Lola replied. "Yes!"

"Johnny," Luan said, "do you take this little girl to be your clownful wedding wife, to pie and to prank, until death (likely caused by slipping on a banana peel) do you part?"

Johnny looked at Lola, _Do it, _she mouthed, _or else. _

"Johnny?"

Johnny nodded. "Yes," he whispered.

"Johnny, do you have -?"

Johnny was not surprised when Lola produced a ring, but he was surprised by its, uh, singular nature. A blue and pink swirl Ring Pop. He sighed and rolled his eyes. This was a bleeping clown show. Literally.

"Johnny...take this ring as a token of my love and devotion...to being your boss forever," Lola said.

Johnny took the ring even though he didn't want to. Lola held out her hand, fingers splayed, and Johnny slipped the ring on. "I now pronounce you clown and wife, you may kiss the joker."

Johnny grimaced at the thought of kissing Lola Loud. She turned her head and presented her cheek. He swallowed thickly, leaned in, and pecked it.

"Johnny, I'm so happy," she said. She took his head and led him to the playhouse while everyone clapped and cheered. Inside, they sat across from one another at a plastic table, Johnny hunched over because there was no head room. "Now what?" she asked.

Johnny shrugged. "We do this until we die."

Johnny was married five minutes that day, then Lola changed her mind. _I'm just not ready for the committment, sorry_.

Johnny was fine with that...but he didn't even get his Butterfingers back. Bleep it.


	19. In Search of Plessy

It started as yet another passing interest spawned from the dying embers of another passing interest. Every so often, Lincoln and Johnny would become obsessed with a topic, skill, idea, topic, or thing, and indulge themselves in it like two kids in a candy store until their interest waned, usually in a week or two, sometimes as long as month. Last fall, it was the Titanic. Mom showed them the super long James Cameron movie and both of them were blown away by it. Not the love parts, but the parts where the ship breaks up and sinks. They binged every movie and documentary on the Ship of Dreams that they could lay their hands on and even read a few books on the subject, a mix of fact and fiction that all started blurring together after a while. Johnny was partial to _Raise the Titanic! _by Clive Cussler; Lincoln, more pragmatic, was a huge fan of Walter Lord's nonfiction account _A Night to Remember_. The sinking of the Titanic was an epic and dramatic event that not even the best Hollywood screenwriter could have dreamed up, and Johnny was so into it that he even joined the local chapter of the Titanic Historical Society.

By the end of October, he was over it.

You know what they say, easy come, easy go.

Over the winter, he and Lincoln got into kickboxing after some guy on _NXT _used kickboxing moves to take out the champ in less than ten seconds. They'd practice in the backyard until their hamstrings were sore and they could barely lift their legs, then strutted around town just begging for an excuse to open up a can of bleep on some unsuspecting bleeps.

They never got the chance.

Oh, they kicked a few cans on fence posts and stuff, but they never found it necessary to literally knock someone's block off the way that clown did to that biker in _Killer Klowns From Outer Space_. Johnny was _still _disappointed about that.

Bitterly.

At the start of spring, they were locked inside because of that whatchamacallit business, the sniffles that killed five people and wrecked the global economy (also something about some buildings catching fire in Minnesota), so they went in for more passive interests. They watched an old school slasher movie called _Tourist Trap _that they both liked, and decided to watch all the slasher movies they could find, but quickly gave up after a triple feature of suck - _Cutting Class _with Brad Pitt, _Don't Go in the Woods...Alone, _and _Madman_. Shudder, those movies blew with gale force intensity. Next, they tried to watch every episode of _The Simpsons _but left off at 2002. Hot take: That show, still on to this day, should have ended at the turn of the last century.

During spring, they developed a healthy fascination with the supernatural, which led them to searching for Hill People in the woods around Scratchy Bottom Campground. A few days after getting back, Lincoln read an article online about a supposed prehistoric monster said to stalk the depths of Lake Eddy. Johnny thought that was a load of barnacles, but Lincoln, like Fox Mulder before him, wanted to believe.

He got really obnoxious about it too. _Plessy the sea monster IS real, _he whined like a baby. _You're just too narrow-minded to accept that._

Johnny dealt with a week of this before a little light bulb appeared over his head.

You know what they had that Fox Mulder didn't?

Lisa flipping Loud.

The little Loud girl was the most intelligent person to ever live (of that, Johnny was convinced) and natural science, earth science, whatever the bleep you call it was her area of expertise. Johnny carted Lincoln over to Lisa's place and sat him down in her lab, smug because she was going to tell Lincoln that Plessy wasn't real.

Only something unanticipated happened. When Johnny brought up the lake monster, Lisa's face glowed with excitement and she scooted to literally the edge of her seat. "I have been investigating the possibility of Plessy's existence for months. I believe that she, if she it is, in fact real."

Lisa, as fate would have it, was fascinated by the idea of million year old evolutionary throwbacks still lurking in uncharted locales. She related the story of two dinosaurs said to inhabit a valley in Africa unchanged since the dawn of ages and hitherto unseen by human eyes, and at her vivid (though hypothetical) description of a place where time stopped 65 million years ago, Johnny felt the first faint strains of infatuation.

Bleep it, now he was into Plessy too.

Lisa told them that she was considering an "expedition" to Harmon Island, a remote and deserted island in the middle of Lake Eddy, so far from land that you couldn't even see it. There, she planned to establish a base camp and search for Plessy. Lana and Lucy were attached to accompany them, and Lincoln begged that she let him and Johnny tag along. Look, Johnny wanted to go to, but did Linc really have to get down on his hands and knees and ball his fists in prayer? Did he really? Show some self respect, man!

"Alright," Lisa said, "you two may come. We'll likely need the muscle." She looked at Johnny, blushed, and bit her bottom lip.

Johnny sighed.

Great.

They left on August 2 in a helicopter Lisa slapped together for the occasion, Lincoln, Johny, Lana, Lola (Johnny didn't know why she came along), Lisa, and Lucy. A submarine was bolted to the bottom and the cargo bay was filled with enough supplies to last a month. Knowing that their daughters were as capable as adults, if not more so, Mr. and Mrs. Loud were totally cool with them taking off for three weeks, just so long as they were back in time for the first day of school on September 5. Lincoln and Johnny's parents took some convincing, but they eventually caved and let them go.

From Royal Woods, they flew north northwest. Rolling pine forests and narrow rivers opened up below them and the piercing blue sky seemed to go on forever. Johnny sat in the back with Lucy, Lincoln, and the twins while Lisa flew and Lana served as co-pilot. They reached Eddy Lake near sunset and approached Harmon Island, the orange, sun-dappled lake spreading out on all sides of them. Johnny could just make out a tiny little sliver of land waaaay in the west if he squinted.

Below, white caps broke over a ring of jagged rocks circling the island, making entering by boat impossible. A strip of sand marked the shore, and dense jungle swept back to a giant volcano thrust up from the foliage, its rim belching gray smoke. Johnny pressed his face to the window and ooohed while on the opposite side, Lincoln did the same.

This was going to be awesome.

And it was at that moment that disaster struck. The rotors cut out and the control panel went haywire. Lisa shouted and pulled back on the steering wheel, and the copter began to drop from the sky, straight at first then launching into a spinning nosedive. The belt pulled tight across Johnny's chest and he held on for dear life, his heart throbbing in his throat. Everyone screamed and cried and the world spun like a super charged merry go round, the water getting closer and closer.

Johnny must have passed out on impact, because he woke up on the beach hours later, long after dark. The surf pounded against the shore and moist sand shifted beneath him when he sat up, head aching. The others were scattered around, along with charred bits of wreckage. A full, almost tropical moon sat high above the rim of the world and provided enough light to see by. He got to his feet and roused the others, then built a fire with Lincoln's help. They all huddled close to it for warmth, their clothes wet, and Lisa shook her head. "I don't know what happened. The helicopter simply stalled. I-I wasn't prepared for this."

"Did anything survive?" Lincoln asked. "The sub?"

"Likely not," Lisa said. "The exhaust ports were open for aeration, so the submersible is not doubt filled with water and unsalvageable."

"So we're trapped?" Johnny asked.

Lisa nodded grimly. "In a word, yes."

Great.

Happenin'.

"Alright, what do we do?" Lincoln asked.

Lisa sighed. "At this juncture, there's little we can do. We are over four miles from land and given the unique topography - namely, the rocks that encircle the island - we cannot simply build a raft and sail out. We'll just have to wait until a boat or plane comes close enough for us to signal it, which shouldn't take very long, by my calculations. This area is heavily trafficked and salvation isn't far off. In the meantime, however, we must utilize the resources at our disposal to sustain ourselves until help arrives."

Across from her, Lola hugged herself and rocked back and forth. "I wanna go home."

"I doubt we'll be here longer than a day or two," Lisa said and adjusted her glasses. "But we'd be smart to act as though we'll be here longer." She yawned and stretched. "We can get started in the morning."

Johnny hung his head and let out a deep sigh. A few years ago, his history teacher showed the class footage from 9/11 (why she decided it'd be a good idea to show a bunch of eight year olds the worst act of terrorism in history was beeyond him). As he watched those planes slam into those skyscrapers, he vowed never to fly. I mean, come on, if you're in a plane and it starts to go, brother, it starts to go. There's only one outcome: Fire, twisted metal, and everyone dead. It's like falling off a building. Once you start, you're done for, gone, kaput, nothing can save you.

Then he grew up and stopped being a baby. Air travel is totally safe. Out of all the planes flying around at any given moment (heck, EVERY given moment), like 000.0001 percent of them end up in heaps of flaming wreckage. He was more likely to catch a Kanyon Cutter than to die in a plane crash. And Kanyon, the guy who hit the KC, was dead, so…

Yet here he was, his very first flight, _his very first, _saw him crash into the freaking water and wash up on a deserted island like his name was Giligan. And for what? A monster that probably didn't even exist?

A hand fell on his knee and he jumped. Lucy snuggled up next to him and he rolled his eyes. Really? They were stuck on a desert island, couldn't she give up this Johnny obsession for two flipping minutes.

That's when he realized she was shaking.

"Uh...Luce, you okay?"

She didn't reply.

Now he was worried. "Lucy?"

"I'm...scared," she said. Her voice was as flat as ever, but Johnny detected the most minute crack. In the jungle, something screeched, and her body went completely rigid.

Never in all the time he knew her had Johnny seen Lucy legitimately afraid. He honestly didn't think she was even capable of fear.

Slipping a comforting arm around her shoulders, he drew her closed, and she melted gratefully into him. "It's gonna be fine," he said. The words felt awkward and dishonest on his lips. Would everything be okay?

Well...it had to, right? It's not like they were on Mars or anything. He remembered a news article he read about a spot out in the Pacific Ocean that was so far from land that sometimes, the closest human beings were on the International Space Station. Talk about isolation. You could get stranded out there and be gone forever. This wasn't like that. The island was only a couple miles from shore. They could build a -

Oh, no, wait, they couldn't build a raft, the rocks would get them.

Hmmmm.

A light bulb appeared over his head, and his face lit up like a Minneapolis police station. "We have a Lisa," he said.

Lucy considered a moment. "I guess."

A bird shrieked in the jungle, and her tiny body shook.

"Can she stop those animals from scaring me?"

Johnny opened his mouth. Her voice sounded so small, so fearful, so _un-Lucy Like _that his stomach turned. "No," he said, "but I can." He tightened his grip around her shoulders, letting her know that she was safe and protected. After a moment, she laid her head and hand on his chest. "Thanks," she said earnestly.

Later on, they made a crude nest out of leaves and branches on the beach and fell into a fitful slumber, the strange animal sounds drifting from the forest keeping Johnny awake, every horror movie monster he'd ever seen jostling for position in his head. What was out there? The fur pelts wearing weirdo from _Don't Go in the Woods...Alone? _That bird-faced kid in the trench coat from _Cutting Class? _The schizo from _Nightmares in a Damaged Brain? _The PCP-addled Lou Ferigno lookalike from _Home Sweet Home? _He didn't know, and that made it a thousand times worse. Gasp, what if it was worse? What if it was...wrestlers?

Gulp.

He pictured Shawn Michaels, Kevin Nash, and (for some reason), New Jack crouching in the bushes, watching him, waiting to hit a high spot on him. New Jack was the scariest one. That dude just didn't care. He'd kill a guy in the ring. Literally kill. As in, whipping out a knife and sticking them in the guts.

A shiver went through him, and he rolled onto his side. Lucy lay facing him, her eyes hidden behind her bangs. He couldn't tell if she was awake or not. "Luce?" he whispered.

Nothing.

Something screamed in the jungle, and to Johnny's tense mind, it sounded an awful lot like Ric Flair. _Woooooooo. _

Okay.

Stop thinking about a stable of wrestlers coming to kick your butt.

Only they wouldn't.

They'd put on a show for him and make him watch. Vince Russo would write it and Jim Cornette would be there to seethe and shoot spittle like the raging lunatic he was. When it was over, the guys would crap in his bag the way they did to Medusa, or they'd put it in his food like they did with Sunny.

A twig snapped and a moan escaped Johnny's lips. He scooted closer to Lucy and draped her arm over his shoulder. Now it was _her _turn to comfort _him_.

In her sleep, Lucy smiled.

At first light, Johnny and Lincoln sifted through the wreckage at the shoreline for anything useful while Lisa cobbled together a rudimentary water filter from rocks, sand, and coconuts. Lucy sat under a tree and stared out at the water, Lana chopped firewood with an ax made of a sharpened rock tied to a club, and Lola ate animal crackers from a Ziploc baggie. That was their only food - if they were here much longer, they'd have to start hunting.

That day, they managed to set up a respectable little camp on the beach. When Lisa's filtration system was done, she sent Lincoln, Johnny, Lucy, Lana, and Lola to a nearby lagoon to collect water in pails she fashioned from cast off pieces of wood. After that, she and Lincoln forged into the jungle with the intention of scaling the volcano, since it was the highest point on the island. They returned three hours later having seen no boats or airplanes in the distance.

"It won't be long," she said that evening at the fire. "It won't be long at all."

On day three, Lola skinned her knee on an outcropping of rocks jutting into the water. She, Lucy, and Lana were fishing and a wave swept over them. Lucy was nearly sucked out into the lake and Lana's pole snapped.

On day five, Lincoln fell asleep on the beach and got a wicked sunburn. His skin literally glowed red. Lisa sent Johnny into the jungle to fetch aloe leaves, and that's when Johnny met his first monkey, a tiny brown thing that dropped out of the trees and mimicked his every move.

Day six saw Johnny build a hammock using vines, leaves, and wood he found in the jungle. He spent several hours weaving, pounding, tying, and banging before it was done. He got to his feet, put his hands proudly on his hips, and drank in the fruits of his labor. He wasn't a hammock expert but it sure looked nice. He sat on it and the vines creaked dangerously, but held. Alright.

Rubbing his hands crisply together, he laid back, covered his eyes with his hair, and laced his fingers behind his head. Ahh, this was -

Something dropped next to him and the hammock dipped. He shook his hair out of his eyes and got a face full of Lucy. "Hey," she said, "pretty cool of you to make this hammock for us."

"Us?"

Ignoring him, she snuggled up to him, laid her palm on his chest, and hooked her leg possessively over his.

Johnny froze up like a tiny mouse in the gaze of a big, big hawk. Lucy wasn't tall...or fat (unless your name is Ultra), but - and call him crazy - he could _feel _the fire in her eyes. Imagine Johnny as a paper bag wearing steak and Lucy as a goff pupper doge and you'll get the picture. He tried to pull away, but she stuck to him like glue, scooting after him in a game of cat and mouse that sent the hammock rocking. "Stop!" he screamed. "You'll kill us!"

A wicked grin spread across Lucy's face. "Oh? I guess I shouldn't do...this." She rocked her body from side to side, and the hammock creaked back and forth, faster. Johnny's heart jumped into his throat and he held on for dear life.

"YES, YOU SHOULDN'T DO THAT!"

"Okay, I won't."

But she lied. She did it again, and Johnny squeezed his eyes closed. She giggled clung to him to keep from flying off, and he laughed too because it _was _kind of funny. "Luce, seriously, I'm not playing!"

He sat up in an effort to slow the hammock, but instead the motion of the ocean, as it were, knocked him off balance. He fell onto Lucy and their noses bumped. The hammock gradually came to a stop, and Johnny realized that their lips were bare inches apart, their ragged breaths mingling and their hearts beating next to one another. Lucy's eyes, just visible behind the veil of her hair, widened in something like alarm and a pink blush burst across her pallid cheeks. Johnny's face burned hotly and when he sat up, he couldn't suppress a nervous laugh. Lucy didn't move for a moment, as though she were deeply contemplating what had happened, then she sat up and coyly rubbed her arm.

Day seven, Lisa attempted to build a radio out rocks and leaves. That first week, the twins bickered constantly. Sometimes Johnny went into the jungle just to get away from it. He found the perfect hang out spot on the east side of the island - a tall, grassy bluff overlooking the crashing surf, he would sit there for hours on end, keeping watch for rescue. On day eight, he spotted something roughly 90 yards off shore, and his heart leapt. Three feet tall and curved like a giant finger, it looked like a boat at first, but the more he watched it, the more it seemed...alive. After a few minutes, it dipped below the water and disappeared. "What do you think it was?" he asked the monkey, whom he had named Brutus.

Brutus chirped and blew a spit bubble like a brainlet meme.

Day ten, it started to rain, and they retreated to a cave Lucy had found in the jungle. Lisa wanted to stay on the beach so that they could see anyone passing by but they didn't have much of a choice. On day thirteen, they met more monkeys, an entire nation, and Johnny named as many as he could. Duggan, Arn, Superstar, Bruno, Kidman - the biggest one, who stood as tall as Lisa and weighed a good fifty pounds, he named Andre.

On day fourteen, Lana, more to occupy herself than anything, started to build a treehouse. Everyone pitched in, and by day twenty, it was a sprawling complex spread out between five trees and connected by rope bridges and repel lines made of thick vines.

Day twenty-three, Johnny spotted the strange finger-thing again. It moved back and forth some 110 yards off the beach, then went down like a periscope. He told Lisa and she posited that it was either a sub or Plessy the sea monster.

Later, he came back with Lucy and they sat next to each other in the tall grass. Lucy drew her knees to her chest and craned forward to following his pointed finger. "Right out there," he said.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

Johnny nodded. "I'm not saying it was Plessy, but it Plessy."

"Okay, Ancient Aliens guy."

"His name is Gerorge Twosockos," Johnny said in faux-pique. "Get it right."

"That's not his name."

"Yes it is."

Lucy turned to him and he could always see her brows raising. "No, it's not."

"What is it then?" Johnny challenged.

"I don't know -"

"So it's George Soreos."

She giggled. "That's not what you said."

Johnny shrugged.

On day twenty-six, Johnny was bathing in the lagoon when something broke the surface ahead of him. At first, he thought it was a log, but as it approached, he realized it was a creature. His heart leapt and he ran out of the water, splashing and falling. On shore, he watched as the thing closed in, then reared up, its long neck towering out of the water.

Johnny gulped.

Plessy - that's the only thing it could have been - was green and scaly with large dorsal fins along its back. It turned its head majestically left and right, spotted Johnny, and seemed to smile. "Uh, hey, girl," Johnny said. The monster craned its neck forward and, after a hesitant moment, Johnny walked over and held his hand out. Plessy sniffed it, then rubbed against it like an affectionate cat.

He went back to tell the others, but when they returned, Plessy was gone.

On day twenty-nine, Johnny, Lincoln, and Lisa were collecting water from the lagoon when Plessy's head broke the surface and rose above them. Lisa screamed and fell back onto her butt and Lincoln shrieked like a woman. Plessy loomed over them, and they clutched each other in fear.

Instead of eating them, Plessy liced their faces.

"Incredible," Lisa said later. Lucy, Lana, and Lola stood in the lagoon up to their ankles and took turns petting Plessy. "I never expected Plessy to be so...socialized. Why, she's a docile as a lapdog!"

Three days in a row around 10am, they all went down to the lagoon to visit with Plessy, splashing with her, petting her, feeding her plants and fish, and taking rides on her. Lisa wondered out loud if it was possible that they could ride her back to the mainland. "We'd have to train her to swim above the surface and not submerge."

The next morning, they were sitting around a campfire when the monkeys started running around and screaming at random. A moment later, a thick bush behind Lucy rustled, and a man in a khaki safari outfit jumped out. He wore a hat and socks pulled up to his knees, and held a rifle. "Tally-ho!" he cried.

"WE'RE SAVED!" Lola cried and jumped to her feet.

Everyone crowded around him and he looked overwhelmed. Finally, he held up his hand and pointed at Johnny. "You, lad, tell me what happened."

"We've been stranded here for a month," he said. "Our helicopter crashed and we've been here ever since. I'm Johnny. That's Lincoln, Lucy, Lana, Lola, and Lisa."

The man threw his shoulders back. "I am Chip Worthington, of the Deer Park Worthingtons." He flexed, aimed his gun off to one side, and flashed a big, toothy smile. "I am an explorer. I've been looking for Plessy the sea monster."

Chip had been on the island for two days, he said. He landed his chopper on the far side and made base camp in the shadow of the volcano. "Can you radio for help?" Lisa asked.

"Indeed, follow me."

Chip led them back to his camp. A large tent big enough to walk in faced the water and a picnic table sat to one side, coolers, bags, and containers stored underneath. Over lunch, Chip explained that he had been searching for prehistoric monsters for over a decade. "Have you seen Plessy?" he asked.

"We have," Lisa said.

She told him everything, and he leaned in to hear better, intrigued. When she was done, he sat back and looked around the table in something like astonishment. "This is true?" he asked.

Everyone nodded. "Yeah, she's really nice," Lana said.

"Kind of slimy and gross," Lola said and wrinkled her nose, "but pretty cool too."

"Amazing," Chip muttered. "Can you show me?"

They made a deal. Tomorrow morning, they would take him to Plessy and in exchange, he would fly them directly to Royal Woods Airport.

That night, they slept in warm sleeping bags around a crackling fire. Chip sat up in his tent, writing in a journal by the flickering light of an oil lamp; Johnny could see his shadow on the canvas side of the tent.

In the morning, Chip made them a breakfast of eggs, bacon, toast, coffee, and potato hash, then followed them through the bush to the lagoon, his rifle slung across his back. A few spots were so dense that Johnny had to use a machete to clear a path.

They emerged on the west side of the lagoon, along a raised hill that sloped down to the water's edge.

Sitting down, they waited for ten minutes, then Plessy appeared, slinking through the water, her dorsal fins rising above the surface like frozen waves. Johnny pointed and Chip got to his feet. Lola, Lana, and Lucy ran along the ridge, hit the beach, and waited for her while Johnny, Lisa, and Lincoln stayed with Chip. "This is magnificent," he muttered.

At the beach, Plessy stopped and stuck her head out of the water.

"Right?" Johnny asked. "I always knew she was real. Lincoln thought she was fake."

Lincoln's brow furrowed. "No, I didn't, you did."

"Dude, I -"

Chip raised the gun, wedged the butt in the crook of his shoulder, and pointed it at Plessy's head.

Johnny's heart stopped and before he knew what he was doing, he was throwing himself at Chip. He hit just as Chip jerked the trigger. They stumbled and the shot went wild, tearing into the jungle. The gun dropped from his hands and discharged again, the round embedding into a tree trunk. The weapon tumbled down the embankment and splashed into the water. Sneering, Chip shoved Johnny back. "You little cretin," Chip hissed. "I've been waiting to kill that beast for years."

On the beach, Lucy, Lana, and Lola looked over.

Chip yanked the revolver from the holster on his hip, and Lisa, Johnny, and Lincoln all scattered before he could open fire, Lisa going one way, Johnny another, and Lincoln a third. Lisa screamed and Lincoln yelled for the others to run.

Seething with fury, Chip gave chase.

* * *

Johnny crashed through the bush, his breath coming in short, hot gasps. He looked behind him and caught flashes of Chip through the trees. He whipped around and pushed himself harder, jumping over a log and splashing through a shallow creek. The land sloped down to a revine, and Johnny slowed to jump in. He ran west, spotted an outcropping of land, and ducked beenath it.

Someone else was already there.

"What do we do?" Lincoln babbled. "He's gonna kill us."

"I dunno, man," Johnny said in a rush.

What could they do? They were trapped on an island with a gun toting madman who was bigger and stronger than them.

An idea struck him.

"Come on."

He got up and ran, and Lincoln waited a second, then followed. They made their way east toward the volcano, and got there a few minutes later. It was the perfect place to hide.

They climbed the narrow dirt trail winding around it and reached the summit a few minutes later. From here, they had a panoramic 360 degree view of the island. They looked around for Lucy and the others. Johnny's chest clutched at the thought of Chip hurting Lucy, and all at once, he felt like he was going to puke. "There," Lincoln said.

Lucy and Lola cowered behind a rock. Chip was on the other side, looking left and right, his nose seeming to twitch like a predator's with the scent of blood in its nostrils. Johnny's heart dropped into his stomach and his mind worked. He had to keep him from finding them. What could he do, though? Chip was too far away to throw a rock at.

Gun in hand, Chip got closer to the rock. Sensing him, Lucy and Lola hugged each other tightly.

Thinking fast, Johnny popped up, cupped his hands to his mouth, and called out, "Hey, idiot!"

Chip looked up at him.

"Come and get me!"

A look of hatred crossed Chip's face, and he disappeared. Johnny turned to Lincoln and looked around. Rocks and tufts of dry brown grass littered the volcano's rim. "Go hide behind that rock," he said.

"What's the plan?" Lincoln asked.

"I don't know," Johnny said, "just follow my lead."

Nodding, Lincoln rushed off and crouched behind the boulder. Johnny looked for a place to conceal himself but it was too late, Chip appeared at the head of the trail. Johnny froze and an evil, satisfied grin spread across Chip's face. He walked along the rim, the gun thrust out in front of him, and Johnny fell back a step. He turned to run, but his shoe must have been untied, for he tripped and went down to his hands and knees. He rolled onto his butt and sat up just as Chip stood over him. "I was going to shoot that stupid creature and mount its head on my wall," the man said and cocked the hammer, "now I'll just have to mount _your _head."

Johnny swallowed thickly and closed his eyes. This was it. He was done for.

"Leave him alone!"

Lincoln crashed into Chip from behind. Hissing, Chip got him in an epic headlock and held him there. Lincoln swung his fists and tried to pull out, but Chip's grip was too tight. "Ha," Chip said and aimed the pistol at Johnny's head, "now I'll kill BOTH of you."

He cocked the hammer and Johnny squeezed his eyes shut.

The blow didn't come.

Instead, Chip cried out in pain and surprise. Johnny opened his eyes and was shocked to see a half dozen monkeys scrambling over his head and chest like circus motorcyclists in a big steel ball. More monkeys leapt over Johnny and joined the fray, shrieking and clawing at the explorer. He dropped the gun, released Lincoln, and fell backwards. The earth crumbled beneath his feet and, as one, the monkeys jumped off.

Screaming and pinwheeling his arms, Chip fell over the side and plummeted into the volcano below. Johnny crawled over to the rim on his hands and knees and poked his head over the side. Glowing orange lava spat and bubbled like the contents of a witch's cauldron and baking heat broke across his face.

There was no sign of the explorer.

"Are you alright?" Lincoln asked and helped him to his feet.

Johnny turned to look at the army of monkeys now watching him and Lincoln, Andre at the head of the pack and standing tall and proud. "Thank you," Johnny said earnestly.

Andre gave a curt nod, then he and his troops departed.

"Come on," Lincoln said, "let's find the others and get out of here."

Hours later, after collecting Lana, Lucy, Lola, and Lisa like human Easter Eggs, they piled into Chip's helicopter and took off. As they soared away from the island, Johnny was sure he saw Plessy in the water below, come to wish them farewell.

"See you, girl," he said.

Lucy snuggled up to him, her head resting on his chest, and after a moment, Johnny put his arm around her.

And smiled.


	20. The Loudest Yard

There are few pleasures as sweet to a boy of twelve as sleeping in on a Saturday morning. Getting the high score in _Call of Honor _and finally getting to the center of a big, fat jawbreaker come in a close second, but it's really no contest. Johnny loved getting to skip the early morning hustle and bustle of the dreaded Weekday and no waking up to the obnoxious cry of the alarm clock. On Saturday mornings, he got to wake slowly and languidly, drifting up from the depths like a piece of flotsam bobbing in the swell. _This _Saturday morning was no different, except for some strange reason, his mind started the process a little early. Normally, he'd roll out of bed between eight and noon depending on how late he stayed up Friday night. Today, his eyes fluttered open just after 6:30.

Ugh.

He rolled over, snuggled up with a wad of blanket, and tried to fall back asleep, but the light of dawn spread through his mind and he came rapidly to the surface. Finally, he sighed and resigned himself to being alive before 7am. Lincoln, Mom, and Dad would all be asleep for hours yet, and the only thing on TV would be infomercials for juicers and holy-rolling religious shows where some smarmy guy in a suit wiggled his little finger and his entire congregation fell out of their chairs. Facebook would be dead, none of the homies would be on Snapchat - Saturdays are great, but Saturday mornings are a barren wasteland.

Desperate to avoid the blasted tundra called Saturday morning, Johnny squeezed his eyes as tight as he could and tried one last time to drop back into the warm bosom of sleep.

It didn't happen.

Okay, okay, I'm up.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, yawned, and scratched the back of his neck.

It took him a few seconds to realize that Lincoln's bed was empty. The pillow lay off to one side and the sheets were messy. Huh. Lincoln usually made an attempt to make his bed before starting his day. He was probably peeing or something.

Johnny got to his feet, stepped into his bunny slippers (they lit up, which was awesome) and went downstairs to cook some hot chocolate.

Yes, that's right, cook. Johnny did not simply boil hot water and dump powder mix in. Oh, no. He added cinnamon, nutmeg, Mrs. Dash, a splash of hot sauce, some Monster, and beef broth, then he brought it to a boil on the stove. It was, like, a full breakfast in a cup. It tasted awful but so did raw eggs, and tough guys ate _those _in the morning. He wasn't trying to be tough, though. He just wanted something to wake him up and fill his belly with energy, and if a witch's brew of beef water and chocolate Monster doesn't do that, you must be dead.

In the sunny kitchen, he got a pan down from the cabinet and stopped to listen. Faint music drifted in from the garage.

What the?

Maybe there was a killer out there.

Or worse.

Ronnie Anne Santigo.

Johnny gulped.

Grabbing a butcher knife, he crept to the door, eased the handle open, and, with a high-pitched battle cry, jumped across the threshold.

It wasn't a killer.

And it wasn't Ronnie Anne.

Lincoln, dressed in nothing but a pair of cut off sweatpants, was on the concrete floor. It looked like he was trying to do pushups but failing miserably.

High-octane rock and roll blasted from a nearby boombox that looked old enough to collect social security.

_HERE I AM, ROCK YOU LIKE A HURRICANE!_

_HERE I AM, ROCK YOU LIKE A HURRICANE._

"Dude," Johnny said.

Lincoln flopped to the floor and looked over his shoulder. Sweat glistened on his flushed face and his white hair was matted with perspiration. "You're doing them wrong," Johnny said. "That's how a girl does push ups."

"No it's not," Lincoln said.

"Watch."

Johnny dropped and did a bunch of perfect pushups because Johnny's the man. He can do anything. He can probably even fly and cure cancer, idk. "Wow," Lincoln said. "Those were great push-ups...now frick off and die." He got back on hands and knees.

Oh, young, naive Lincoln.

"Why are you doing this anyway?" Johnny asked.

Lincoln sighed and rocked back on his knees. "When that psycho explorer guy attacked you, I couldn't help you. It made me realize what a weak, sniveling little punk I am."

"Well, I'm glad you finally got some self-awareness," Johnny said.

Lincoln shot him a dirty look. Whoops, was I supposed to try and make you feel better about yourself?

"I almost...you know...lost you," Lincoln said and looked down at his lap, embarrassed. "I wanna be stronger so if anything like that happens again, I can do something."

"Dude, that was a grown man with a gun," Johnny said. "He was psycho too. I couldn't take him either."

"So I have to be strong for both of us."

Johnny opened his mouth to argue, but that was a good point. Johnny thought he was the biggest, strongest, most awesome guy ever, but, let's face it, he wasn't. He got his butt handed to him on a silver platter by everyone, including those little Loud girls across the street. Everyone he knew was stronger and tougher than he was, even the females. He was tired of being weak and defenseless. If Lincoln got stacked, no one would ever mess with them again. Johnny envisioned a giant, bulging wall of muscle with Lincoln's face...just freaking towering over everyone, so big and cut that Vince McMachon wanted to sign him to a 50 year WWE contract.

And straddling his shoulders, in a cool spiky helmet and shades, was Johnny. Who runs Bartertown? Huh? WHO RUNS BARTERTOWN?

_That _was the future Johnny wanted.

But how did he and Lincoln go about achieving it?

An idea hit him.

"I know," he said. "If you want to work out so badly why not workout with Lynn. I mean she plays everything and she's probably the healthiest person in the universe."

Lincoln's eyes widened. "Uh...I dunno about that. Lynn...uh...she goes hard."

"No pain, no gain," Johnny said and whacked Lincoln's bare back with a meaty _slap_.

Lincoln winced.

After breakfast (Johnny opted for cereal over cooked hot chocolate), they went across the street and knocked on the front door. Lori answered and when she saw who it was, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What do _you _guys want?"

"We're here to see Lynn," Johnny said.

Lori lifted her brow as though she thought they were lying. Ever since the thing last month where Lisa crashed them on a desert island, Lori had been acting funny toward them like it was _their _fault, and if she didn't keep an eye on them, they'd drag her little sisters into another horrible misadventure. "She's in the back," she finally said.

Johnny tipped his paper bag.

Around back, Lynn was over by the tool shed in a pair of red shorts and a white tank top. She hit a standing punching back with a wicked kick, and it weebled and wobbled but didn't fall down. She punched it, slapped it, then grabbed it and started shaking it back and forth with a high, frenzied scream. She looked like she was going insane.

If Johnny knew Lynn Loud Jr., something was bothering her and when she got mad, she got violent.

He almost noped outta there, but he was fundamentally a good guy and Lynn was his friend, so he went over to see what was up. Lincoln turned around and tried to sneak off, but Johnny grabbed him by the back of his jacket and dragged him after. "Come on, Linc."

Lynn jumped back and hit the punching bag with a sick spin kick that knocked it over. To lighten the mood, Johnny straddled it like a cowboy. "You just got knocked the bleep out."

Flashing, Lynn punched his paper bag off his head. "Get off," she growled. "He's mine." Johnny jumped off and Lynn hit it with a flurry of kicks and stomps. It looked like _American History X _only not as racist. Lynn panted, fumed, seethed, and hissed through clenched teeth.

"Whoa, calm simmer down there, killer," Johnny said. "What's the matter?"

Lynn gave the fallen punching bag one last kick and paused to catch her breath. "I'm mad, that's what's the matter."

"Why?" Johnny asked. "One of your sisters do something to you? Trust me, I know _all _about annoying siblings."

Lincoln's face darkened.

"No," Lynn said. "I'm mad because there's no girl's football team. That cucks me out of completing FLIBBR."

Johnny blinked. "Huh? Flibber? Wasn't that a movie with Robins Williams?"

"No, you're thinking of Flipper," Lincoln said. "It was about a killer shark eating people."

"No, dude, that's _Teeth_."

Lincoln's brow furrowed in confusion. "I thought that was the one where the guy has teeth in his butt."

"No, that's -"

"Will you shut up?" Lynn asked, and they both fell silent. She made a fist with her right hand and held her arm up like she was going to sneeze in the crook of her elbow. The outline of the letters FLIBBR were written across her flesh in magic marker. "It stands for football, lacrosse, ice hockey, baseball, basketball, and roller derby. I've won a championship in _all _of them...except for football. This stinkin' sexist town doesn't have a girl's football team, so I can't get F. I'm doomed to only be a LIBBR. I don't wanna be a LIBBR. I wanna be FLIBBR."

Oh.

Okay.

Kind of dumb, but she was obviously passionate about it.

"Why not just join the boys team?" Johnny asked. "I mean, you look like a straight-up guy, so as long as they don't check under the hood -"

Lynn wound up and kicked him in the nuts as hard as she could. Johnny's feet left the ground and he almost fell over.

But didn't.

Lincoln gaped at him in horror.

Smirking, Johnny patted his crotch. "Joke's on you, Lynn. I happen to be wearing a cup right now because -"

Lynn hit him in the stomach with a deadly uppercut. Pain exploded in Johnny's middle and his knees gave out, spilling him to the ground where he curled up in a fetal position and tried but failed to suck air into his bursting lungs.

Standing over him, Lynn balled her fists threateningly, and Lincoln fell back like a cowardly vampire from a cross. "SEE WHAT YOUR SMART MOUTH GETS YOU?" Lynn yelled.

"I see," Johnny groaned.

"Actually," Lincoln said, "that's not a bad idea."

Lynn swung around and reared back for a kick to nards. "No!" Lincoln screamed. "I mean...sign up. It's 2020, they pretty much have to let you. If they don't, just cry sexism and heads will roll like that girl from _Cemetery Man."_

"Good movie," Johnny quivered.

Lynn opened her mouth, then thought better of it. "You're right. If I make big fuss, they'll get scared of being canceled and give me what I want." She mulled Lincoln's idea over for a moment then beamed. "Nice one, Stinkoln." She punched the beep out of his arm...but in a friendly way. And the tears that sprang to Lincoln's eyes? Tears of joy. "What did you guys want anyway?"

"I need help bulking up," Lincoln said.

Humming, Lynn pinched one of his arms between her thumb and forefinger, then let it go.

It fluttered in the wind like a ribbon.

"I know," Lynn said, "why don't you join the football team too? Football's a great way to get in shape. The training gets _really_ intense. It'll make you tough and mean too.

Lincoln didn't see how catching balls and throwing passes would help him get muscular, but he was all for being tough and mean. You don't have to be the biggest dude ever to fight well. Look at CM Punk. Dude's tiny but he routinely hands much bigger guys their butts on silver platters.

"You know what? Yeah. Let's do it."

"My man," Lynn said. She looked down at Johnny, who still lay on the ground in a pathetic heap. "You should sign up too so you can defend yourself."

Johnny pushed himself to a sitting position and swayed drunkenly from side to side. "Okay. But only so I can replace the stomach muscles you just gutted outta me."

Like three merry elves (or two merry elves and one crippled old guy who could barely walk because he just got blasted in his stomach for running his mouth), they went down to the school and signed up that very afternoon. The guy behind the sign-up table looked at them funny, but didn't say anything. They were a girl and two black guys (though Lincoln's pasty white bleep didn't look it). If he said no, BLM would be all over this place before the sun set.

Their first practice was three days later. Johnny, Lincoln, and Lynn reported to the football field where a fat guy in a baseball cap and polo shirt lined up all the players on the sidelines and marched up and down the ranks like a drill instructor welcoming his troops to boot camp. "The next three months of your lives will be the most grueling, gut-wrenching, brain blasting experience possible. I will tear you down and build you back up. You will sweat, you will shake, you will pray for the sweet release of death, but you will reach meteoric highs that you never thought possible. You will drink from the chalice of victory, and your worthless little lives will, for one glorious season, have meaning and purpose." He stopped in front of Johnny and leaned over him. Johnny flashed an anxious smile. "You will look back on this period for the rest of your life as your peak...that is...if you survive my training."

Johny gulped.

Maybe this was a mistake.

"Now start running drills."

It was too late to back out, so Johnny did what he was told.

Day in and day out, he did push ups, sit ups, pull ups; he ran, jumped, leapt, dove, and rolled. He ran through fields of tires, climbed frayed ropes, and took tackles out the wazoo. He went from fumbling every pass to catching each one, if only barely.

The first game was on September 25. The Elk Park Eltons - whose mascot was a giant and flamboyant Elton John who shook his butt at halftime - came into town. Johnny, Lincoln, and Lynn gathered with the other players in a huddle. "Alright," the team captain said, "Loud, you run the ball. You're fast. Johnny, block that big SOB with the dip in his lip."

Johnny blinked. "Wait, what?"

"Lincoln, I'm gonna fake throwing it to you, then hit it to Loud. I want you to stay open in case she can't take it, alright?"

"Right," Lincoln said.

The guy Johnny had to block was, indeed, a big SOB with a wad of snuff in his lip. Dude was a good seven feet tall and built like a bunker. "Dude...are you even a kid?" Johnny asked before the snap.

"Don't worry about it," dude said.

When the game started, the guy ran through Johnny like a freight train through wet tissue paper. Lynn was blocked and couldn't get away, and Lincoln was free. The captain threw the ball and Lincoln caught it, fumbled, almost dropped it, then steadied himself. A dozen guys rushed at him, and screaming, he ran toward the goal, making it halfway before someone dove into his legs.

The next play, Lynn got the ball and ran it all the way to the end zone, where she spiked the ball against the ground, shook her butt, did a backflip, and yelled "SAY MY NAME!" at the top of her lungs.

She got red flagged for excessive celebration.

Play number three had Johnny twisting his ankle, Lincoln splitting his pants, and Lynn running the ball again but getting tackled. The other team came hard and fast, like an ax murder, and by the fourth quarter, the score was tied and Lynn, Johnny, and Lincoln were on the ropes. Johnny was achy, sore all over, and could barely walk.

With twenty seconds left on the clock, the team captain came up with an ambitos play. He would snap the ball to Johnny, who'd in turn hand it off to Lincoln, who'd throw to Lynn. At the whistle, Johnny got the ball...only to be tackled into the dirt.

"New plan," the captain said in the next huddle, "Lincoln, pass it to Lynn."

The whistle blew, Lincoln got the ball, and threw it just as someone plowed into him. The ball spun through the air like a bullet, wobbling and passing just above the heads of clashing players below. It hit someone's helmet and bounced off, almost landing on the ground. Lynn dove, grabbed it, and did a 180 mid air, and landed on her feet. She ran to the end zone and got there just as the game ended, scoring the winning touchdown.

Cheering, the team swept her up on its shoulders and she pumped her fist in the air.

The season that followed was full of late afternoon practices, home and away games, and lots and lots of injuries. Lynn sprained her ankle twice, Johnny lost three teeth, and Lincoln got speared so hard at one point that his helmet flew off. Lynn got flagged at least once a game for holding someone's face mask or twerking in the end zone. She finally got suspended and had to sit out three games. The first one, the Roosters got creamed. The second one, they creamed the other team, and the third went into double overtime before the Roosters lost.

Late summer turned to early fall. The days got shorter, the sunlight weaker, and the leaves changed colors and fell from the trees in brown and red showers. The Roosters won more games than they lost and went all the way to the state championship because of course they did, they had Johnny on their side.

The state championships were held in Ann Arbor on December 15 at seven in the evening. It was cold and dark and snow flurries swirled in the big lights illuminating the field. The Loud sisters from Lucy down to Lily, had somehow made their way to the sidelines dressed like cheerleaders in maroon skirts, even Lana because maybe she wanted to get in touch with her feminine side or something. Lucy, with her hair done up in pigtails, stood there while Lola shook her pom-poms. "I feel like I'm being exploited and fetishized," she said.

"Will you just shut up and not be miserable for two minutes?" Lola asked sharply.

The other team, The Chippewa Falls Chainsaw Killers, was big and mean. Their mascot, a guy in a yellow apron and a mask made of fake, rotting human flesh (at least Johnny hoped it was fake), shucked and jived with a live chainsaw, much to the delight of the crowd.

The game opened with an intricate play in which Johnny wound up with the ball. Lincoln ran behind him to keep the other team off, but someone came in from the side and speared Johnny into the Stone Age. The next play, Lynn got the ball and instantly had ten guys on top of her.

By the second quarter, three Roosters were out with injuries and the spare players sucked. First down, bottom of the ninth, someone grabbed Lynn's face mask and they got into a fistfight. She ripped his helmet off and punched him, and he responded by body slamming her. The other players joined in and soon it was a melee. Johnny got so mixed up in the confusion that he wound up slapping Lincoln by accident, and Lincoln tackled him.

"Aw, my Gawd," the sportscaster cried, "he's whippin' him like a government mule!"

Everyone got a red flag.

At half time, a local rock band played the national anthem then launched into a discordant cover of "In A Gadda da Vida" that lasted forty-five minutes. Everyone started getting bored until chainsaw guy started poppin and lockin with his saw.

The score was 10-3, Roosters down. The captain came up with a play on the fly that involved Johnny blocking for the quarterback on the Mannerheim Line. It was tricky but Johnny managed to keep the other guys off him for the goal. Later on, Lincoln punted the ball from the three point line and the score went up by four.

Fourth quarter, Johnny was starting to flag. His energy was gone, his body hurt, and that snow patch on the sidelines looked really comfy. The score was eight to ten and they were close to winning, so he had to power through.

Then disaster struck.

Lincoln didn't keep back the offensive line like he was supposed to and someone tackled the team captain so hard his leg came off.

The entire crowd went silent.

Except for Johnny. "Noooooooo! We need him to tell us what to do!"

Paramedics carried him off on a stretcher. Before he went, he grasped Lynn's hand and, shaking and verging on death, he rasped, "It's up to you now, Loud."

Then he was gone.

"I don't know how to be a captain!" Lynn said.

But she had to try.

"Alright, slap nuts, come here," she said and motioned everyone to huddle around her. "I'll throw the ball to Johnny. Johnny, throw the ball to Lincoln, Lincoln, throw the ball to me."

The play started, Johnny went long, Lincoln went left, both got tackled. Lynn, not knowing what to do, lowered her head and charged down the field. The clock was counting down, it was almost over, she had to hurry or the Roosters would lose.

A wall of muscle came at her from the left and she dodged around it. Another came from the right and she slid between its legs. She did a front flip over a pile of fallen players, landed on her feet, stumbled, and ran headlong toward the end zone. The crowd started counting down the clock. "5, 4, 3, 2…"

Someone grabbed her helmet from behind. She slipped out of it and jumped into the end zone just as the clock struck none.

CHECKMATE!

The entire stadium exploded in raucous cheers, chainsaw guy did an angry dance of defeat as though he'd just watched his victim climb into the back of a pick-up truck and escape, the other team fell prostrate in grief, and the ref ripped his shirt off and spun it over his head like a helicopter. The Loud girls kicked their legs and cheered, fireworks burst overhead, the marching band came out of nowhere playing that Sweet Victory song from Spongebob that everyone got butthurt wasn't played at the Superbowl (better luck next time, kiddos), and Lynn excessively celebrated but no one flagged her because a win this epic, this amazing, this storied, this cool deserved all the celebration it could get. Johnny, kept together only duct-tape and Elemer's glue, crawled into the end zone, got shakily to his knees, and smiled, revealing the last three teeth in his mouth. Lincoln.

"We did it!" Lynn cried. "Yay! I'm a FLIBBR now."

"Wahoo," Lincoln said from the ground.

Lynn grabbed both of them and the crowd surged out of the stands to pick them up on their shoulders, whereupon they bounced them around like three beach balls at a boomer concert.

SWEET, SWEET VICTORY!

Johnny basked in the glow of Lynn's accomplishment and Lincoln waved to her adoring fans. He wasn't the biggest or the most muscular, but he was tough as nails now and could handle any enemy who came along. So could Johnny.

Now their fights were apt to be even more brutal than before.

THE END


	21. The Way of the Board

Sometimes, you gotta put your hustle on hold and have some fun. Lincoln and Johnny were all about that profit, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. They lived and breathed money-making. Their mother called them Shylocks, which meant "good businessmen" (Lincoln thought) and they were. Over the years, they had honed their bidness skillz to the point that they could sell coal to Newcastle and mittens to Hawwians. Johnny had the gift of gab - he could talk the pope into sinning and a mob boss into spilling the beans on every illegal thing he'd ever done. Lincoln was the brains. He knew human psychology the way Dad knew wrestling. You have to play mind games with people because the truth doesn't sell. Lies do. That's why all those beer commercials show guys buying it and suddenly getting women and jet skis. If they showed who really bought their product - lonely and broken down alcoholics - no one would want it.

During their long and checkered career, he and Johnny had sold everything from Swiss cheese to state secrets. No, really, a little Chinese boy used to live down the street and his father wound up being a spy. Lincoln and Johnny convinced him that they had a bunch of intel, then sold it to him. LOL. From what Lincoln heard, he passed it onto the Chinese government, and when they found out it was BS, they called him back to China and put him in prison. So not only did they make money, they saved Uncle Sam's butt. Win-win.

They were obsessed with making money not because they were greedy, but because they were broke. They lived in a nice house in the suburbs but their family didn't have very much money. If they wanted new bikes, new clothes, toys, video games, snacks, sodas, or literally anything else, they had to work for it. They used to try and bum money off their Dad but he told them "Go make your own."

So they did.

At any given time, they each had at least fifty bucks stashed away. Johnny liked to spend and everywhere he went - Wal-Mart, the candy shop, Burpin' Burger - he made it rain like a drunken sailor on shore leave. Lincoln was more judicious with his spending. Oh, he liked having things and he could blow through a fifty like nothing, but he hated the clawing hopelessness of being completely out of money. It was like being slowly suffocated. Forget _that_.

Because everything in this world cost something, he and Johnny had to always hustle. From sunup to sundown, they were earning money, or talking about earning money, or planning to earn money. It got really tiresome. They fixed bikes, serviced their own vending machines, performed music downtown, did kids' homework (five bucks a pop, fifteen for science fair projects and stuff), they even scoured the hills around Royal Woods for discarded scrap metal and copper wire (of which there was a lot). They mowed lawns in the summer, shoveled sidewalks in the winter, sold lemonade and hot chocolate, they made their own Christmas and Halloween decorations, held monthly yard sales - anything to make a buck.

Lincoln didn't relish always being in money mode, but you do what you gotta do. His father taught him that: The guy worked nine and twelve hour days to put food on the table, and he never said "I don't feel like it today." Lincoln watched that man go to work with back pain, the flu, splitting headaches, 103 fevers - Dad never stopped because he knew if he did, his family would stop. It struck Lincoln as whiny and babylike to complain about fixing bicycles when Dad was busting his hump at a factory all day. He and Johnny had it easy.

But even Dad had days off. Saturday and Sunday, he parked his butt in front of the TV and didn't move again until Monday morning. He napped, watched forty year old wrestling matches on the WWE Network, and drank copious amounts of Tab Cola. Basically, all of the things he was passionate about.

Lincoln and Johnny both looked up to their father, even if his obsession with pro wrestling _was _annoying, and they used him as a blueprint for how to live their lives. Therefore, they took the occasional day off from hustling. The weekend was prime time for them since they were stuck at school during the week, so it didn't happen _every _weekend.

Today, Sunday, August 18, they woke early and went downstairs to eat breakfast. The house was silent and wrapped in shadows and they made every effort to be as quiet as possible so they didn't wake their parents. In the kitchen, they poured themselves bowls of cereal and sat at the table, Johnny intently studying the puzzle and on the back of the box.

They had a lot planned today.

Last month, Lana saw a movie about skateboarding and decided she wanted to skateboard too. She bought a board and a membership to the skate park in town and went there every afternoon to practice.

She was awful.

Lincoln and Johnny only found out Tuesday afternoon when they went to service the vending machine they installed at the park's snack bar. "Dude, look, it's Lana," Johnny said. Lincoln turned just as Lana's board shot out from under her and she fell to her butt.

"Ouch," she mumbled.

She got back up, grabbed her board, and got on, only to wobble and toppled off again.

"Dang it."

They watched her for a good five minutes, and she bombed harder than Nagasaki. Finally, Johnny sighed. "She needs help."

As it just so happened, Johnny was a master skateboarder, one of his various skills that only seems to come up when he randomly needs them.

"Yeah she does," Lincoln said. "How much are we gonna charge her?"

Johnny thought for a moment, a contemplative hum trembling on his lips. Lana falling flat on her face and sighing her dejection decided him. "Nothing," he said.

They went over and helped Lana to her feet. "Not bad," Johnny said. "You just need a little spit and polish."

"I suck," Lana sighed.

"No, you don't," Johnny said. "Tell you what. Meet us here Saturday morning and I'll give you a few pointers."

"You skateboard?" Lana asked.

"I sure do."

"I didn't know that."

"You do now."

Lincoln planned to hang with Maggie on Saturday, so he called her and invited her along since she skateboarded here and there. On Thursday, while they were fixing Lynn's bike for the umpteenth time, Ronnie Anne came over and asked if they wanted to hang out on Saturday. "We got plans," Johnny said.

"What plans?" she demanded.

Lincoln told her, and she shrugged. "Okay, I'll tag along. I got a friend in from the city and I was gonna take her there anyway."

Way to invite yourself, RA.

Presently, Johnny sat the box aside and took a bite of his cereal. "Text Maggie and see if she's ready."

Lincoln texted Maggie, and she responded in less than two minutes. _Yah. U coming to get me?_

"She wants us to pick her up," Lincoln said.

"Dude, she lives in the complete opposite direction of the skate park. Why?"

"Whatever, you ahead then. I'll catch up."

Ten minutes later, they left the house, Johnny going one way and Lincoln the other. The morning was warm and hazy and the only sound was the rattle of AC units up and down the street. Maggie's house was on the edge of the Brierwood Neighborhood, where all the area's upper middle class types lived. It was a big two story brick affair with a slate roof and a green front door. Lincoln stood at the end of the walkway and texted Maggie. A few minutes later, she came out in a pair of shorts and a green plaid shirt over a black T. Lincoln's heartbeat sped up like it did every time he saw Maggie.

She walked up and stopped. A skateboard was tucked under one arm. "Hey."

"Hey," he said.

Her hand crept into his and they started to walk. "How bad is she?" she asked.

When Lincoln talked to her about going to the skatepark with him, he mentioned Lana. He _may _have played up the fact that he and his brother were helping a little girl learn how to skate so that he looked good. Hey, girls like it when guys are sweet and gentle and all that other mushy gushy junk.

"She just needs a little guidance," he said, because telling the truth - _brah, she's trash, we're wasting our time _\- would have made him sound like a megajerk.

Fifteen minutes later, they reached the skatepark, a confusion of half pikes, full pikes, steps, rails, and other things that Lincoln couldn't name surrounded by a chain link fence and situated on the corner of Maple and Pine. Even though it was early, a ton of kids were already skating in the big, empty pool looking thing and hanging out by the snack bar. Lincoln spotted Johnny sitting on a bench next to Lana, who busied herself strapping pads to her knees and elbows. Sid sat next to him with a camcorder. Ronnie Anne sat on his other side and a tall blonde girl that put Lincoln in mind of a crane stood slightly to one side, her head down and her hands shoved into the pockets of her blue hoodie.

"Who's that?" Maggie asked.

"No clue," Lincoln said.

They walked over, and Ronnie Anne nodded. "'Sup, Snow White? Check it, this is my homegirl Nikki from the city."

Lincoln had never heard Ronnie Anne use the phrase "homegirl" before. Of course, he'd never seen her take a dump before either. That didn't mean she never had.

"Hey," Lincoln said.

"Hey," Nikki said, "nice jacket."

Lincoln was wearing his gray military deal to match Johnny's green military deal.

"Thanks." He looked her up and down for something to compliment in return and his eyes fell on her skateboard; she stood with one pink tennis shoe perched on the edge, crazily reminding him of that painting of George Washington crossing the Delaware. "Nice board."

That wasn't just a peasantry, he meant it. Tapered on both sides and painted in a rainbow of pastels, it looked like a stick of Fruit Stripe gum. There were also spikes on the wheels.

"Thanks," Nikki said. "I did it myself."

Lana adjusted her helmet and got up. "I'm ready," she said.

"Alright," Johnny said and stood. "Time for your first lesson."

Lana jumped onto her board with a giddy grin, but Johnny dragged her off by the back of her shirt. "Not so fast there, sport. First, you have to learn the basics."

"Basics?" Lana asked.

"Watch me."

Johnny stepped onto the skateboard he and Lincoln custom made and painted themselves last summer. It was green with ARGGH written across the bottom in white. He struck a lotus pose, one leg drawn up and his hands together like he was praying. "You must first master the art of balance, sensi."

Lana arched her eyebrow. "Uh...okay."

She tried to copy his pose and promptly fell down.

Lincoln and Maggie turned back to Ronnie Anne. "Wanna board?" Maggie asked.

"Sure."

Sid knelt down and recorded Johnny and Lana. "This is going to be good," she said.

"My how-to-skate video will sell mad copies online," Johnny said.

Since Johnny was using their board (why the bleep didn't we just make two of them?), Lincoln sat on the bench and divided his attention between the girls and Johnny and Lana. Lana finally emulated Johnny's pose without falling, but she wobbled and shook. "Now, we'll try actually moving," Johnny said.

On the half pike, Ronnie Anne did her best to impress Nikki, but Maggie kept showing her up. Maggie flipped, kicked, and all that other stuff, and Ronnie Anne got visibly madder and madder. She got sloppy and kept falling off her board, which served only to infuriate her more. Finally, after the millionth time she took a header and crashed into the asphalt (thankfully she was wearing a helmet, otherwise she would have wound up needing a trip to the emergency room of Carson General Hospital), she popped up, kicked her board, and stormed off, stripping out of her helmet and pads as she went.

"Yo, Ronnie, where you going?"

Ronnie Anne ignored her friend and disappeared around the side of the snack bar. Classic Ronnie Anne: Someone did something better than her and instead of being a good sport, she runs off to sulk like a big baby. She'd get a soft pretzel or a Rocket Pop, lick her wounds, and come slinking back like nothing happened. He was one hundred percent sure. He had seen this a thousand times in the past from her.

He turned back to the half pike.

Maggie did a sick kickflip, landed on one hand, and spun around like a breakdancer or something. Nikki looked after Ronnie Anne and seemed to consider going after her, but shrugged and went back to skating like nothing.

Meanwhile, Johnny went on teaching Lana "The Way of the Board" while Sid filmed. Lincoln watched, amused, as Johnny made Lana carry the board, rock it like a baby, and hug it. "A loved board is a happy board," he declared.

Fifteen minutes passed and Lincoln realized Ronnie Anne hadn't come back yet. He craned his neck around to look at the snack bar. A number of picnic tables occupied a concrete patio on one side of the building. A few kids sat around eating hotdogs and popcorn and goofing off, but Ronnie Anne wasn't one of them. Hmmm. Where was she? Did she go home? She only went home when she was _really _mad.

Should he go check on her?

He frowned. That was a risky proposition. Ronnie Anne was volatile, the type of person who wanted to be left alone when she was upset. If you rolled up on her when she was stewing, she was likely to punch you in the face for daring to see her at her weakest. For that reason alone, Lincoln didn't want to chance it, but for better or worse, Ronnie Anne was his friend and if something was wrong with her, he couldn't live with himself if he didn't make some kind of effort.

So, with a sigh, he got up and went off in search of her. Behind him, Lana and Johnny skated in circles. She was more stable now and not as uncertain. "Good," Johnny said, "you're almost ready to advance to the next level."

Lincoln walked a complete circle around the snack bar but didn't see Ronnie Anne. He walked from one side of the park to the other, then back again. He was just about to give up and call it a day when he spotted her on the other side of the chain link fence, sitting on a bench and waiting for the bus. Lincoln rolled his eyes. So she _was _going home.

Something - common sense, maybe - told him to turn around and walk away, but instead, his feet carried him through the gate and to the bench. He sat down, and Ronnie Anne shot him a dirty look. A gust of warm wind flipped her bangs into her face and she tucked them behind her ear.

"Where are you going?" he asked without looking at her. Knowing her, she'd get weird if he looked at her. _OMG, you're seeing my emotions, I can't have that. _

Seriously, she was worse than Hank Hill. What was it with some people bottling all their emotions up and acting like they didn't have any? It was clearly a pride thing, he just didn't understand it. Like, okay, you're human, so am I, so is everyone else. It's 2020, no one's going to bag on you because you're a person who experiences the full range of human emotions. Maybe in 1912, you couldn't let people know you weren't made of steel, but times have changed, RA, get with it.

"Home," she said.

"Why?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Cuz I wanna."

How should he approach this?

You know what?

He was going to be direct.

"You were trying to impress Nikki, weren't you?"

Ronnie Anne whipped her head around and fixed him with a baleful glare. Like a thin coat of ice on the surface of a frosty pond, however, it was hollow. Beneath, he saw the truth. "No," she said quickly.

"Yes you were," he said. "You were trying to impress her and Maggie kept stealing your thunder. Don't try to deny it, Ronnie."

Ronnie Anne opened her mouth, then turned away and crossed her arms sullenly over her chest. "She's _my _friend."

"Yeah," Lincoln said, "no one ever disputed that."

"DId you see her? Maggie totally took her away."

"I didn't see that," Lincoln said. "I saw you guys skating, then you trying to impress Nikki, then you marching off."

"Because I was mad!" Ronnie Anne cried and threw up her hands. "I rarely ever get to see Nikki and she's, like, the coolest person I know. When I used to live in the city, I looked up to her and wanted to be just like her. She's the one who taught me to skateboard."

She sighed. "At least she tried. I wasn't very good. I've been practicing really hard and I wanted to show her how much better I've gotten, but your dumb girlfriend kept being better than me. Nikki probably wants to hang out with her now. I don't blame her. At least Maggie can skateboard."

Lincoln twisted around to look over his shoulder. Maggie was standing in line at the snack bar, her arms crossed, and Nikki sat near the half pike looking lonely and lost. She looked around like she was waiting for someone and a slight frown traced her lips. "Dude," Lincoln said, "that kind of thing doesn't matter. If Nikki's really your friend, she won't care. She'll be your friend even if you suck. She's not going to be best friends with Maggie just because Maggie can skate better."

Ronnie Anne sighed.

"Friendship is about more than common interests. It's about connecting with someone on a human level. I bet Nikki doesn't even care. Look." He nodded to Nikki and Ronnie Anne turned around. "She looks sad...like she misses you. You should get over yourself and go back in there."

Ronnie Anne thoughtfully bit her lower lip. "You're right," she said. She looked at him and for the first or second time in all the years Lincoln had known her, she smiled. "Thanks, Linc."

To Lincoln's unending surprise - and horror - she swept him into a hug that nearly snapped his spinal cord in two. Who are you and what have you done with the real Ronnie Anne?

He hugged her back anyway. "Come on, let's go."

They got up and went back through the gate, sidestepping a fat kid in black shirt with HOLLYWOOD UNDEAD across the chest and a pink haired girl with more metal in her face than a Monster of Rock show. Lana and Johnny were skating on the halfpike now. She did a kickflip and a perfect hand stand. "I did it, I did it!" she cried joyously.

"I knew you could," Johnny said.

"Good job," Lincoln said, flush with pride even though he had no part in teaching Lana how to skate board. He looked around, spotted Ronnie Anne's skate board. He went over, bent, and picked it up. "Think fast!"

He threw it, and it arched high. Ronnie Anne jumped up like a basketball player going for a sick, epic dunk and snatched it out of the air.

"Nice catch."

She hopped on her board and joined the others of the half pike. "There you are," he heard Nikki say, "I thought you dipped. I was kind of bummed."

"Sorry," Ronnie Anne said.

Lincoln put his hands on his hips and beamed with pride. Helping people made him feel good. He was like Doctor Phill or someone. A white Oprah. A non mob affiliated Michael Franzese. A non shyster Joel Olsteen. You know what? He should start charging for his advice like Lucy in those old Peanuts comics. Was that her name? The girl who gave advice for five cents a pop, whatever her name was.

A hand fell on his shoulder and he looked up. Maggie handed him a giant plastic cup filled with soda. "I got you a big soda," she said.

"Thanks," he replied. "Food?"

"I'm not hungry," she said, "so if you want something, you have to go and get it for yourself."

"Maybe later."

He put his hand in hers and threaded their fingers together. Hand in hand, they watched the others skate. It would have been a poignant and picture perfect ending…

...if Lana and Ronnie Anne didn't crash into each other and wind up side by side on their butts with identical expressions of pain on their faces.

"Ow," they said in unison.

THE END.


	22. A Novel Idea

Johnny threw his head back and let out an exasperated sigh. "This is dumb," he said.

"Good dental hygine is _not _dumb," Mom said.

They were in the car on the way to the dentist, Johnny in the back and Lincoln in the passenger seat. It was mid-August and thus time for Johnny's yearly check-up. Lincoln, lucky dog he was, already had his. It would make sense for them to have their check-ups at the same time, right? But for whatever reason, Lincoln always went in May and Johnny in August.

August, May, or freaking Christmas Day, Johnny _hated _the dentist. He hated it more than he hated anything else, even wrestling. He would literally rather watch every video on the WWE Network, then every single AEW event, than go to the dentist. What did he hate about it, you might ask? What _didn't _he hate? He hated having his teeth scraped, he hated the taste of the dentist's Latex gloves, he hated the way the dentist shook his head and tsk, tsk, tsk'd (_you need to brush more often, Johnny_). He hated the smell of the place, he hated the stuffy little waiting room, he hated the smiling tooh posters on the wall and the lumpy chair and everything else. The only thing he didn't absolutely despise was the secretary...Mrs. Loud. She was cool by virtue of being his neighbor and the mother of his gal-pals, the Loud Girls, but if he didn't know her like that, he would probably hate her too.

Every time late summer rolled around, Johnny started cooking up excuses for why he couldn't go to the dentist. Last year he pretended to have a stomach bug. _I wouldn't want to puke on Dr. Kriep _(pronounced "Creep").

Mom made him go anyway.

The year before that, he ran away from home and fronted like someone kidnapped him. He even wrote a ransom letter and left it in the kitchen for Mom and Dad to find. Little did he know, Mom was friends with some Hawwian shirt wearing private investigator who was so good that they based a TV show on him. He found Johnny in literally five minutes; Johnny was sitting on a park bench and swinging his legs back and forth when a black 1978 Trans Am pulled up and a guy in tight jeans and a Hawwian shirt jumped out, his thick mustache and white boy jheri curl utterly perfect, not a strand out of place. "Johnny?" he asked.

Johnny looked at him.

He looked at Johnny.

Johnny got up and bolted, his paper bag flying off and landing on a pile of dog poo. The PI gave chase and tackled Johnny like Bill Goldberg killing a jobber on _Monday Nitro_. Johnny's face slid through the dirt, his jacket tore, and one tennis shoe flew off. "Get off me, pedo!" Johnny cried. He kicked and thrashed beneath the PI's massive muscles, but he was pinned, trapped, a goner, done for. The PI dragged Johnny to his feet and marched him back to the car. "Your mother's worried sick, you little punk."

"Dude, I was kidnapped!"

"No you weren't."

"Oh, yeah? How do you know?"

"You wrote the ransom letter in crayon and signed your name."

Oh.

Whoops.

"Dude, stop being a baby," Lincoln told him once. "It's just the dentist."

That made Johnny mad because he wasn't being a baby. He wasn't, like, afraid of the dentist or anything, he just didn't like it. Why did he have to go? Dad didn't go to the dentist every year and he was just fine. Sure, he complained about his teeth hurting every now and then, and one of his teeth had rotted to the point of leaving a black hole in his jaw, and sometimes his gums would randomly start bleeding when he ate, but otherwise, he was perfectly fine.

Nothing Johnny did could extract himself from the clutches of the evil Dentist, so he was pretty much POL. Poop out of luck.

"I don't understand why I have to do this," Johnny said now. "I brush, floss, and use mouthwash every night."

"That's not true," Lincoln said from the passenger seat. He was bent over his DS playing _Mega Mario 6000_. This thumbs flashed across the keypad and pixelated sounds filtered from the speaker.

"Shut up, yes it is."

"Is not."

"Is too."

"Is not."

Johnny started to reply but Mom cut him off. "Both of you be quiet. You're going to the dentist and that is _final, _young man."

Sigh.

SIGH.

"Fine."

He'd go...but he wouldn't like it.

Johnny crossed his arms and glared at the back of Lincoln's head.

Five minutes later, Mom pulled into the parking lot fronting the L-shaped building housing Dr. Creep's office. She slid into a slot facing the big glass window and cut the engine. "Aright, boys," she said, "I have errands to run. I'll be back to get you in an hour."

"Do I have to go?" Lincoln asked.

"Yes," Mom said firmly, "you do."

Lincoln heaved a sigh, threw the door open, and got out. Haha. At least Johnny wouldn't be the only one miserable today.

Johnny hopped out and he and Lincoln watched Mom back out of the space. Johnny couldn't be sure because all the windows were up, but he thought he heard her scream _I'm free! I'm free! _

"Let's go, Snocone," Johnny said.

Inside, the waiting room was a study in industrial blandness. White walls, gray carpet, some chairs and end tables laden with six month old magazines. CNN played on a wall-mounted TV and the moment Johnny saw Chris Cuomo, his stomach turned. Ugh, that guy was annoying.

The only people present were an old man holding an ice pack to the side of his face and a teenager with braces on top of her braces. Johnny winced because all that metal looked painful. Can you imagine kissing a girl with a chainsaw for a mouth? He tried to picture it and cringed so hard he doubled over and bumped into Lincoln.

Lincoln shoved him. "Watch what you're doing."

"Don't shove me," Johnny said and shoved him back.

Lincoln's face darkened, and he pushed Johnny so hard he stumbled back and fell over the arm of a chair.

Oh, it was so on.

Johnny jumped up and charged his brother. Lincoln met him halfway, and they proceeded to slap at each other like a couple of girls, their heads turned to one side to protect their faces from damage. They only stopped when someone shouted their names.

Mrs. Loud, in a pair of pink scrubs, sat behind a pane of plexiglass, her brow angled down in an angry V. Lincoln and Johnny separated. She watched them for a moment to make sure they wouldn't go back at it, then softened her features. "Sign in, please," she said.

Johnny signed in.

"Now take a seat." She pointed at him. "And no more fighting with your brother."

"Yes, ma'am."

Johnny sat down next to Lincoln and looked nervously around the room. The atmosphere was heavy and oppressive, the air stagnant. Was it hot in here? It felt really hot in here. He drew a deep breath and let it out in a shaky rush. Chris Cuomo droned on and on, his voice buzzing in the center of Johnny's head like a hive of angry, Italian-American bees who get triggered af when you call them Fredo. He started to hyperventilate and clutched the arms of his chair, nails digging deep into the polished wood. Beside him, Lincoln went on playing his game, the beeps, boops, pings, and pongs adding to Johnny's anxiety.

Just when he thought he was going to lose it, the door to the back opened and Mrs. Loud came out. "Johnny."

Johnny's stomach jumped into his throat and he swallowed thickly. He got shakily too his feet and cast a searching look at his brother.

Lincoln ignored him.

Taking a deep breath, Johnny went into the back.

Mrs. Loud led him to a cramped room with cold lighting, stainless steel surfaces, and a chair that looked so much like Old Sparky that Johnny shuddered. "The doctor will be with you shortly," Mrs. Loud said.

Yay.

Great.

Johnny approached the chair the way a boy would a venomous snake coiled in the toilet. He sat down and leaned back. Mrs. Loud left and he was alone with his thoughts and fears. Earlier, when he said he wasn't afraid of the dentist, he may have been downplaying his emotions. He _was _kind of scared. Not much, just a little. A manly amount of fear. Not like quaking and peeing himself or anything.

He took a series of deep, calming breaths.

Be cool, Johnny, he told himself, you got this.

Right.

Just believe in yourself.

In the waiting room, Lincoln's DS died and he hissed a dirty word through his teeth. A shadow fell over him and he looked up. Mrs. Loud loomed over him. Uh-oh, did she hear what he said? Was she going to wash his mouth out with soap? "Lincoln, honey," she said, and Lincoln braced himself for a motherly tongue-lashing from the fifth level of hell.

"Y-Yes, Mrs. Loud?"

"Can you do me a favor?"

Uh...where was she going with this. "Sure," he said and smiled sheepishly, "anything I can do to help."

She produced a notebook and he tensed, half way expecting her to whack him across the face with it. "Can you hold onto this for me? I have things to do and I don't trust leaving it on my desk."

And you trust me? A kid? Okay. "Sure," he said and took it. "What is it?"

"It's a book I'm writing."

"Oh," Lincoln said. She was writing a book? That was pretty cool, he guessed. "Sweet."

"Thank you."

She returned to the back and Lincoln looked at the notebook's cover. Let's see what kind of writer Mrs. Loud is.

He opened it. Ranks of flowery purple script greeted him. He read a few lines and gagged. Ugh, a romance. Lincoln hated romance. Romance was the lamest, dumbest, more stupid literary genre there was. Lincoln liked stories with action and adventure, monsters and brawny heroes on epic quests to -

An idea struck him.

He flipped to a blank page, whipped out a pen, and started to write.

_They met at midnight in a dimly lit tavern along the Western Road, seven miles east of Eld near the River Ol. Coming down the road on horseback, Lincoln the strong couldn't help but wonder what Kel saw in the place: Two stories and trimmed white, it reminded him of a cracker box, its paint peeling in long strips. He was certain Kel knew the owners. Perhaps they, too, were part of the Nefrati._

_There was a stable beside the main building: The flicker light of a lantern shone in the windows. Lincoln hopped off the horse (whom he hadn't named...naming was bad luck), and walked her inside, where a man in green, nodding in a chair by the pen closest to the entrance, jumped up, suddenly invigorated by the arrival of a customer. _

"_Good evening, sir," he said, smoothing the wrinkles from his tunic. "Will you be spending the night?"_

"_No," Lincoln said. "I should be less than an hour."_

"_Right," the man said, taking the reins fromLincoln's hands. "I'll treat him like he's my own."_

"_It's a she," Lincoln corrected._

"_She then," the man smiled._

_Relenting, Lincoln walked over to the tavern. A wooden sign hung over the door. It creaked and swayed in the warm summer breeze._

_Inside, the pub was like any other in Sel: A wide room dotted with tables and chairs, a bar running along the far wall. Lanterns hung in the corners, casting shadows along the floor and walls. _

_At this late hour, the place was empty, save for the innkeeper behind the counter, and a man sitting at a table, his arms couldn't see his face, but he was sure it was Kel._

_Taking off his sword and hanging it by the door (as the law decreed),Lincoln walked over to the man. It was Kel alright. His eyes were closed and his breathing was shallow._

_Moving quietly,Lincoln pulled out his chair, lifted it several inches off the floor, and slammed it; Kel jerked, his eyes flying open and a small gasp escaping his lips. _

_Lincoln smiled._

"_Good morning," Lincoln said, sitting._

"_You nearly gave me a heart attack," Kel said, sitting up straight._

"_My apologies. Now what did you want to see me about? I'm a very busy man."_

_Kel shifted in his seat, found a comfortable enough position, and rolled his neck. "I have a job for you," he said. "If you can keep from frightening me to death, that is."_

"_What sort of job?" Lincoln asked._

_Kel leaned forward, lowering his voice. "A death job."_

_Kel, as far asLincoln knew, was a captain in the Nefrati, the secret organization the King so recently labeled "Blood-thirsty bandits." They operated all over the land of Sel, plying their wicked trade in the shadows. Murder, extortion, drug trafficking. In some of the more remote spots of the kingdom, such as the area near the Krakucs Mountains, they were the government._

"_Tell me about the mark," Lincoln said._

_Lincoln was one of many employed by the upper echelon of the Nefrati. His specialty was murder: In five years of work, he'd taken the lives of over a thousand beings, and never once had he been caught, or even implicated. Kel, in his more jovial moments, called him "The Phantom," because he came and went like a ghost._

_Presently, Kel cleared his throat. "We have a problem in Arb."_

_A terrible ten headed beast had taken up residence in a cave overlooking a small village. It came out only at night and ate unwary travellers and townspeople. _

"_I need you to destroy it," Kel said._

"_How much?" Lincoln asked._

"_25,000 Ulk."_

"_Make it 35."_

_Kel sighed. "32."_

"_33."_

"_32,50."_

_Lincoln shrugged. "I can live with that."_

Come on, come on, Johnny thought. He looked up at the clock on the wall. Ten minutes, He'd been waiting ten minutes for the doctor to come in. Okay, he got it, there were other patients who were here before him, but still. It shouldn't take this long. What was the point of calling you back from the waiting room just so you could wait some more? He never understood the logic behind that. At least out in the waiting room he could watch Chris Cuomo and read old articles about Georg Freud riots and Pabstvirus. Nothing passes the time like looking at pictures of burned and looted storefronts and reading opinion pieces by white liberals who support looting as long as it takes place in black neighborhoods far away from them.

That was something that really got to Johnny as a black man. Facebook and Twitter were both filled with Woke white people who 1) made no differentiation between Black People Are Important and the a-holes just there to loot 2) supported the looting as though it were part of BPAI protests and 3) acted like riots were a good thing. Uh...no, they're not. Most of the places getting burned down are in BLACK COMMUNITIES. His uncle Tyrone owned a barber shop in Kalamazoo. A bunch of black dudes and some scrawny white AntiNa kids from the suburbs broke out the windows, set it on fire, and beat Uncle Tyrone's beep when he tried to stop them. He posted about it on Facebook and some white Karen from Lynnwood straight up told him "You shouldn't have fought back, you have insurance."

Like...is that what you really believe? That people should just roll over and let their homes, businesses, and personal property be destroyed? Their families harassed and put in danger? Wow, okay, remind me not to vote for _you._

Frickin' psychos.

While Johnny mused on politics because it was either that or stare blankly at the wall, Lincoln continued to write.

_Lincoln left that very night, following the Western Road through the dense Yolga Forest. Towns rose and fell along the way, each smaller than the last. _

_He stopped twice, once in a glen to give the horse water and let her rest her hooves, and again at a scenic lookout providing a sweeping view of the Ild Valley. Sitting on a rock and eating an apple from his sack as the horse drank, Lincoln looked out over the land: Tiny clusters of lights huddled here and there, and in the distance, the moon shone on the placid surface of the Rul River. Though he couldn't see them, he knew that the Krakucs Mountains thrust up from the land beyond, their higher peaks lost in the clouds. _

_When he was done with the apple, he took the sword Kel had given him and examined it once more in the feeble light of the moon. Golden with a jewel encrusted hilt, it was larger than his own sword, the edge much sharper and pointed. _

_When Lincoln asked why, Kel explained that it had been blessed by a mountain dwelling shaman during the time of King Netul, and that its magical properties destroyed evil._

_On the rock overlooking the valley, Lincoln hefted the sword, getting a feel for it. He swung it left, right, up, down, side-to-side. It was heavy, yes, but he was certain he could handle it._

_Near daybreak, Lincoln climbed onto the horse and set off again, following the winding mountain road down into the sea of trees. An hour later, as the sun shone, he came to the east bank of the Rul River. On the opposite side, a mill sat in a cluster of trees, its giant wheel spinning lazily. _

_Patting the horse, he crossed. Ten minutes later, he came to a rise. At its summit, he could see the towering stone walls of the Krakucses. Smaller foothills flanked its lower reaches._

_Lincoln pushed the horse, and the horse obeyed. The road began climbing past the village of El-Frati, and jagged rocks grew up beside it. _

_The Goya Pass was the lowest and most easily accessible of all the fords through the range. Lincoln followed it, and in less than an hour he was on the road down. The valley falling away from the mountains was green and lush: Farther back forest rose up, and in the foreground a small village stood next to a babbling brook. _

_It had to be Arb._

_In fifteen minutes (a surprisingly short amount of time, Lincoln thought), he was walking the horse into the stables next to the town inn. A man, almost identical to the one the night before, took the reins and smiled. "Good morning, sir. Staying the night?"_

"_Yes," Lincoln said. _

_Inside, the innkeeper, a short black man with dreads, warily watched him approach. "I would like a room," Lincoln said._

_The innkeeper sized him up. "You're here on a great quest." He pressed his fingertips to his forehead and held out his hand as if to hold Lincoln back. "I see a great ten-headed beast and a sword of the finest silver."_

_Lincoln's forehead pinched. "You are you?" he asked._

"_I am Johnny the Merchant. I am also a mystic. The Mystic-Merchant. Or the Merchant-Mystic, if you like."_

"_What do you know of this beast?" Lincoln asked._

"_Follow me," Johnny said._

_The Mystic-Merchant came around the counter and led Lincoln through a door. Outside, dense pine forest pressed close. In the distance, a craggy mountain thrust into the azule heavens, its peak flat and rocky. "It makes its home in a cave on the western slope."_

_Lincoln hummed. "What else do you know about it?"_

"_It's a right fearsome beast. Fifteen feet tall and covered in scales. It has ten heads, each more horrible than the last, and it eats muscular journeymen in one bite." He nudged Lincoln's side._

"_What is the best way to fight it?"_

_Johnny was quiet for a long, thoughtful moment. "The best way to fight it...is to turn around and go back the way you came."_

"_I can't," Lincoln said instantly, "there's money involved."_

_Johnny winced. "Aye. As a capitalist myself, I understand. Come inside and we'll talk more over grog."_

_Five minutes later, Lincoln and Johnny were seated at a table in the inn's empty dining hall. Golden morning sunshine cascaded through the window and lay across the floor. "There is but one way to kill the wicked Loudbeast," Johnny said. "You must drive your sword through its heart."_

"_I take it that's no easy task," Lincoln pondered._

"_Not at all," Johnny said. "Its heart be in the center of its body and covered in tough scales. If you get too close, the monster will tear you apart."_

_Lincoln digested that bit of information. "But I have no choice?"_

"_None."_

_Lincoln sighed. "When is the best time to approach the beast?"_

"_Tonight," Johnny said. "I will assist you if I get a cut of your pay."_

_A cut? Of his pay? The sun was more likely to set in the east and rise in the west! _

_Then again, Lincoln was not sure he could handle this dreadful being alone. He had slashed and hacked his way from one end of the Realm to the other, fighting vampires, werewolves, evil sorcerers, soldiers, rebels, and a million other nefarious enemies, but this was something different altogether. _

_His mind went back to the time he faced a clan of nine foot white ape in the snowy mountains at the top of the world. These apes, who were too human to be called an animal and too animal to be called human, put up a fearsome fight that saw Lincoln nearly defeated. _

_Lincoln stood nearly seven feet tall, bulged with muscles, and had a cunning honed by years of necessity. He was still only a man, though, and there are some things that a man can not do on his own. _

"_Ten," Lincoln said._

"_Make it twelve," Johnny countered._

"_Eleven."_

"_Eleven and a half."_

_Lincoln considered his proposal for a moment, then nodded. "Meet me at midnight."_

The door opened and Johnny tensed. Dr. Creep slipped into the room like a hungry shadow. Six feet tall with sunken cheeks and a broad forehead, Dr. Creep looked, well, like a creep. He was a nice guy when he wasn't lecturing you about brushing your teeth, but if you saw him walking toward you in a darkened alley, you'd be forgiven for mistaking him for a flesh eating ghoul.

He held a clipboard in one gnarled hand and wore a gauze face mask around his neck. There was a stain on his scrub top. Was it from his lunch...or was it blood?

"Hello, Johnny," he said.

"Hey, Doc," Johnny said, hating the anxiety in his voice. "H-How's it going?"

Dr. Creep went to the counter and pulled on a pair of Latex gloves. "Oh, the usual. How are you?"

"I'm okay," Johnny said. "I've been brushing and flossing every night." He bared his teeth for the doctor to see.

"Very good," Dr. Creep said. He put his mask on and tied a paper apron around Johnny's neck. Johnny held his breath and stayed perfectly still. When Dr. Creep was done, he reached for a tray full of sharp metal instruments, and Johnny squeezed his eyes closed.

He really, really hated this part.

_That night, under the watchful gaze of the moon, Lincoln and Johnny left the inn by foot. They moved silently through the pine forest, making little noise, and picked up a narrow dirt trail that led up the mountain at an angle. The only sound was the chirping of crickets and the wind in the trees. _

_Per Johnny, the mountain was honeycombed with caves, some of which were believed to reach all the way into the very depths of hell. The Loudbeast was on the far side of the mountain in a vaulted chamber that had a reputation for being haunted. They approached it cautiously, Lincoln in the lead. He gripped his sword and tensed his muscles in expectation of a confrontation. Before they had even reached the cave, the rank smell of the beast found his nose and he gagged._

_They reached the cavern shortly. Feeble, flickering light spilled from it and painted the ground. Lincoln poked his head in and started. Fifty feet away, the monster reclined next to a roaring fire, uglier and more disgusting than he ever could have imagined. One head wore a red baseball cap, one a pair of glasses, and another still braces. He could not clearly see the others. "Stay here," Lincoln said to Johnny. "Come when I call."_

_Crouching low, Lincoln went in. A head with blonde hair and blue eye shadow perked up, saw him, and hissed. The others whipped up, and the creature got to its feet. Lincoln tossed his sword from one hand to the other, his eyes firmly on the thing's heart. The blue eye shadow head let out a deafening roar, and the Loudbeast charged him. Screaming in fury, Lincoln ran toward it. At the last moment, he ducked to one side and brought the sword up, tearing a jagged slice in the monster's green skin. It wailed and lashed out with one mighty paw, almost hitting him. _

"_Johnny!"_

_Johnny came in and the Loudbeast trained its attention on him, as planned. Lincoln stepped forward to deliver the killing blow, but stopped. The creature stared at Johnny with hearts in all of its eyes and dreamy smiles on its lips. It slunk forward, purring like a cat, and Johnny fell back a step. "What are you doing?"_

_The thing continued coming and Johnny started to run. He threw a frightened look over -_

"Lincoln, what are you doing?"

Lincoln jumped and dropped his pen on the floor. Mrs. Loud stood over him, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Uh...nothing," Lincoln said.

"You're writing in my notebook."

Uh oh. "No I'm not."

Mrs. Loud snatched it away and flippd through it. She started to read and Lincoln's face tinged red with embarrassment. Mrs. Loud turned to the next page, then eventually sat down and crossed her legs. When she was done, she looked up. "This is really good, Lincoln."

"Thanks," Lincoln said. He didn't think it was very good. He wasn't a writer, just bored.

"No, I mean it, it's much better than mine."

"Yours is good," Lincoln lied.

Mrs. Loud drew a deep breath. "No, it's not." She frowned down at the notebook. "I've always wanted to be a writer and I've worked really hard at it, but I'm just not good enough."

She told him that she had been writing since she was a little girl and entertained dreams of being just like her literary idols. "Writing is my passion and something I really want to do. I've written so much but no one will publish me." She hung her head in shame.

"You just have to keep trying," Lincoln said. "It might not happen now but if you keep working hard, you'll eventually get there."

"I don't know about that," she said, "but after reading your work, I feel inspired."

Lincoln blinked in surprise. "Really?"

"Really," she said. "I want to write something with action and heroes now."

That made Lincoln feel really good.

Just then, the door opened and Johnny came out. "Hey," Lincoln said, "how do you feel?"

Johnny smiled. His teeth were white and sparkly. "I hate coming here, but love how my mouth feels when I leave."

Their mom got there a few minutes later and they climbed into the car. Lincoln found himself really hoping that Mrs. Loud got to achieve her dream one day.

It would be cool knowing a writer.

Whipping out his DS, he plugged it into the cigarette lighter and started to play.


	23. Linc or Swim

Michigan was famous for a lot of things (like Kid Rock) but one of them was _not _its brutal summers. The Mitten State, as Johnny sometimes called it, was so far north that it kissed Canada, which meant that it was typically cold in the winter and fairly mild in the summer. The average summertime temp was 80 degrees and nights were in the fifties and sixties. Sure, there were days when it got hotter than that, but for the most part, it wasn't so bad.

Until the Heatwave of 2020.

It started in early July with a run of days cracking 95. In late July, it reached 100 three times in one week. Then, in mid-August, it peaked at 103.

And stayed there.

By day four of "this historic heatwave" (per WKBBL), Johnny was half-dead. The AC inside couldn't keep up and it was a good 80 degrees in the house. Dad sat in his chair in his wife beater and tightie whities, a bag of frozen vegetable under each butt cheek, and Mom took cold shower after shower since she couldn't strip to her skivvies too. It was semi-cool in the basement, and Lincoln set up shop next to the old disconnected furnace. He played his DS and talked to Maggie on the phone. It was all peachy for a while, then a nest of daddy longlegs dropped onto the top of his head and he nearly had a heart attack. Now he refused to go down. Johnny briefly considered taking his spot but he didn't like spiders either, so he said "Nope" and steered clear.

For him, the worst thing about the whole heat wave business was that he couldn't go outside. Going outside was death. Your health meter would start to drop, then when it hit zero, you'd fall over like the guy from GTA 5.

WASTED.

As soon as you stepped out the door, the heat wrapped itself around you like a heavy blanket. It sucked the air from your lungs, soaked into your skin like poison, and fried your eyeballs in their sockets. You ever been in the middle of a big snowstorm, and it's dead silent because all that snow, like cushions the noise? That's what it was like now, as though the heat were a tangible mass of red death you could measure with a yardstick. Just walking from the front door to the mailbox left you gasping for air and covered in two layers of sweat. Doing literally anything was out of the question.

And that was a yuge problem (to borrow a phrase from the President). See, Johnny Velazquest was an active guy. He liked being out and about doing things. First and foremost, he enjoyed making money...and that entailed actually going outside and working for it. He and Lincoln hauled scrap metal out of the woods all the time - they had this sick spot where everyone went to dump their unwanted appliances and stuff, and it was basically a goldmine. Going out there and fetching that sweet, sweet copper wire was impossible with this dang heat. Even going to service his and Lincoln's vending machines proved difficult.

But even less-strenuous activities just couldn't happen. He tried to go to the park the other day but turned back around and went home half way through. He went into the backyard a few times, but unless he just sat there on the back step with his face in his hands, he started choking and sweating in five minutes. He couldn't play ball, he couldn't run, he couldn't ride his bike, he couldn't act a fool - he was a kid and he couldn't _be _a kid. He was crackling, bursting, exploding with energy and had no way to get it out.

Plus his money was starting to dwindle. He and Lincoln ordered fans, ice cream, and other chilly things off the internet and since they weren't working, their stacks weren't being replenished. Ugh. Not only was he hot and going stir crazy like dude in _The Shining, _he was going broke to boot.

Then, one day, as he lay inert on his bed, stripped to his underwear and fevered even though three fans blew on him, a light bulb appeared about his head and he sat bolt upright. "Eureka!" he cried and thrust his index finger into the air.

Lincoln, draped over his own bed and looking like a limp dish rag, lifted his head. "What?" he croaked rustily.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Johnny got to his feet and rushed over to the ancient PC he and Lincoln shared. "Why didn't I think of this sooner?" he asked. "It's genius! It'll solve all of our problems in one fell swoop. It's brilliant. It's epic. It's so obvious that even you could have come up with it, Linc."

Lincoln rolled over and sat up. "What?" he pressed.

"Just watch," Johnny grinned.

He went to Amazoom dot com and five minutes later, a drone smashed into the window, almost breaking it. Sergio, napping on his roost, jumped up and started squawking. "PIGEONS!"

"Get that, will you?" Johnny asked.

Lincoln got up, went to the window, and lifted the sash. The drone buzzed in and Sergio hid behind the nightstand. The drone came right to Johnny and dropped two packages in his lap. "Here you go, my good man," he said and handed it a fifty. A robotic arm snaked out, took it, and left again.

"What's in there?" Lincoln asked.

Ignoring him, Johnny ripped open the packaging and smiled. "The solution to all our problems. Put on your clothes and meet me in the front yard."

Johnny pulled on a pair of shorts, stepped into his sandals, and carried his prize downstairs. Dad was still parked in front of the TV, naked save for his undies. His flabby fat rolls glistened with sweat and his distended stomach quivered like a plate of jello. On TV, the Ultimate Warrior beat The Honky Tonk Man at Summerslam '88 and Johnny groaned. "It's too hot for wrestling."

"I know," Dad moaned miserably, "but I lost the remote and can't change it."

Poor sucker.

Outside, the day crashed into Johnny like a blast of heat from a furnace. Sweat instantly sprang to his brow and the air left his lungs in an audible _whoosh_. He wilted like a flower in the hot sun and started to droop: His shoulders sagged, his head lulled, and his face meat sagged from his skull. He dragged himself into the yard, dropped the boxes onto the dead, brown grass, and knelt.

Sweat poured from him in warm, slimy rivulets and the sun baked his skin. Johnny was black, so he drew sun rays like a magnet draws metal. Sweat stung his eyes, got into his mouth, soaked his shorts, and dripped onto the ground like fat raindrops, where they practically sizzled. Johnny whipped his head to the side like a dog shaking itself dry, and Lincoln cried out when sweat pelted him. "Oh, good, you're here," Johnny said, "help me with this."

They worked slowly and gently to avoid overexerting themselves. In half an hour, they were finished. A massive inflatable two story pool with a slide occupied half of the yard. Beside it was a much smaller baby pool. "Get the hose," Johnny said.

Lincoln grabbed the garden hose from under the back porch. It snagged on something, and frowning, Lincoln yanked it. It wouldn't budge. Sighing in frustration, Lincoln yanked again, and it came free, knocking him to his butt. "Stupid thing!" he cried. He got to his feet and dragged the hose out front, where Johnny stood over the big pool with his hands on his hips. Lincoln turned the hose on and draped it over the side; water splashed and gurgled and began to pool.

Since it would take a while for it to fill up, they went inside and ate Rocket Pops. Mom rested her head on the kitchen table and moaned as if in pain and Dad was unconscious in his chair, eyes rolled back in his head. On TV, Vince Russo called Hulk Hogan a big bald SOB and swore he'd never wrestle in WCW ever again. He was right, because WCW went out of business almost immediately afterwards.

Once the pool was filled, they filled the baby pool then set the hose up so that it poured a continuous stream of water down the slide. Lincoln got in, sat, and draped his arms on the side of the pool. The water almost reached his nipples.

He let out a sigh of contentment and threw his head back. Johnny got in and sat across from him. The water was blessedly cold and sent goosebumps racing up and down his arms. Ahhhh, that was better.

"You're a genius, dude," Lincoln said.

"I know," Johnny beamed.

"I just have one question."

Johnny flopped his head back as if to bask in his brother's praise. It wasn't often that his brilliance was recognized, especially by Linctard, so when these moments came around, he made extra sure to savor them like a wine snob with a vintage 1900 chardonnay. "What's that?"

Lincoln sat up straight, sending little ripples through the pool. A thirsty leaf had landed in the water as if its lure was too tempting to resist, and already, a bug had found its way in and drowned. The waves produced by Lincoln's movement rocked its upended carcass like a heavy storm surge battering a ship at sail. "You said this would solve all of our problems."

"Yep," Johnny said, "I sure did."

"Alright, well, it solved the problem of us being hot. What else will it solve?"

"The problem of us being broke."

Lincoln opened his mouth, then a big Chesire smile spread across his face. "I see what you mean."

They shared an evil little laugh.

Fifteen minutes later, after enjoying a little peace and relaxation, they went across the street, Johnny in the lead. Up and down Franklin Avenue, front lawns stood empty and nothing moved, not even a breath of wind. The only noise was the low, electric hum of window mounted air conditioning units. No wind blew, no birds called, and the hazy sky reminded Johnny of a theatrical backdrop.

The Loud house huddled against the heat like an old woman with stooped shoulders - that was a strange and nonsensical alapgy, but it was the first thing that popped into Johnny's head. The grass was overgrown because no one was stupid enough to try cutting it in these temperatures and the windows glimmered like evil eyes. The porch seemed to sag, as if unable to support itself any longer, and all the plants hanging from the ceiling were dead or close. Johnny knocked on the door, waited, then knocked again.

No one answered.

That was odd. Since there were, like, twenty people in there, someone _always _answered. Were they okay? What if their air conditioner crapped out and they all died?

"You think they're okay?" Lincoln asked.

Johnny bit his lower lip. "I dunno."

He tried the knob.

Unlocked.

Did the Louds usually leave their front door unlocked? He searched his memory banks but couldn't recall. Royal Woods was a small town where you could get away with that kind of thing, but it wasn't 1970 anymore. People be trippin'.

A little worried now, he opened the door and went inside.

The living room was empty but the TV was on, suggesting people were nearby. On the screen, Joe Biden, in a grill and a sideways snapback, called black people who didn't plan to vote for him "whickety-whack, yo" and Nick Canon agreed, calling them Jew lovers.

Johnny cocked his head and listened. There were ten girls in the Loud family, and they made more noise than a fat guy falling down a flight of stairs, but he heard nothing. Zip. Nada. Zilch. No banging, no thumping, no screaming, no crying, no whining, no bickering, no Mr. Loud yelling for the madness to end, no Mrs. Loud threatening to ground everyone.

It was eerie.

"Hello?" Johnny called.

Nothing.

He went into the kitchen.

And he found them.

The Loud girls, all ten of them, stood in a huge group around the open refrigerator wearing bikinis like they were going on a trip to the beach. Lucy sat inside the fridge ("This is where I go to cry," she said) and the others fanned themselves or pressed frozen foods to various parts of their bodies in an attempt to get cool.

Bingo, Johnny thought.

"Hey, guys," he said.

They all looked at him.

"We got something for you," Lincoln girinned.

A few minutes later, Lincoln and Johnny stood before their pool, the Loud girls gathered around and looking excited. "This is literally great," Lori said.

"I can't wait to take a dip," Lana said.

Lynn, for her part, crossed her arms and favored Lincoln and Johnny suspiciously. "What's the catch?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" Johnny asked innocently.

"There's always a catch with you two," she said.

Lincoln and Johnny exchanged a knowing glance. She knew them so well.

"No catch," Johnny said, "but there _is _a nominal fee.

"A very tiny one," Lincoln said and held his thumb and forefinger close together.

Everyone groaned.

"How much?" Lynn signed.

Lincoln and Johnny looked at each other. Physically, they were as unalike as night and day, one impossibly white and the other impossibly black, one with dreads and the other with slicked back fifties hair or something. They were both kinda scrawny and they had messed up teeth because Mom's side of the family had a weak tooth game, but that was where the similarities ended. Even personality wise they were different. Lincoln was more analytical, Johnny more impulsive. But sometimes the stars and planets perfectly aligned and their brains logged onto the same wavelength. The thought that passed between them may as well have been spoken for as loudly as both boys heard it.

"Ten bucks," Johnny said.

Lynn's jaw dropped. "Ten dollars?"

"A pop," Lincoln added.

Lily, her diaper magically gone, toddled over to the baby pool and climbed in. "We'll let her in free" Lincoln said.

"Yeah," Johnny said, "we're not monsters. We -"

His words cut off when Lynn snatched the front of his shirt and dragged his face to hers. "How about I beat you to a pulp and then take your little pool?"

Johnny's heart slammed. There was a fire in Lynn's eyes that told him she would do it in a heartbeat. "I-If you do that…"

Lincoln whistles and Sergio fluttered down from the roof, landing on the pool. His talons were sharp. Very sharp.

"All I have to do is say the word," Johnny said, "and no pool for you."

Lynn shoved him back and sighed. "Fine. Give us a few minutes."

Alright! Now we're in business.

The Louds all went home and returned ten minutes later. "We have 83.50," Lynn said and held out a crumpled wad of money and coins.

Darn. Johnny was hoping for 100.

83.50 was better than nothing.

"Alright, fine," he said and took the money.

"Come on, girls!" Lynn yelled.

The Louds fell on the pool like a pack of wild dogs, Lola and Lana shoving each other, Luna banging her head and spiking a devil sign, and Leni's tongue hanging out. They all got in and instantly started splashing and yelling. Johnny took the money inside, put it away, and came back just in time to catch a beach ball to the face. "Think fast," Lola said.

"Hey," he replied. He picked it up and cocked it back.

"Noooo!" Lola yelled and scrambled to get out of the way. Johnny grinned, aimed it at the back of her head, and fired. It hurtled through the air like a bullet. At the very last possible moment, it veered slightly to the right, missed Lola, and rammed into the side of Lucy's head, driving it forward with a sickening clack of teeth. Johnny winced and cringed. Lucy, no-selling like Vince McMahon tearing his quads, turned around and looked at him.

"Not cool, Johnny," she said.

Lynn did a cannonball and splashed her.

Lincoln, Luan, and Lisa sat in the baby pool with Lily, who wore a fresh diaper. Lincoln held out his arms and Lily jumped into them, kneeing him in the nuts in the process.

"TAG, YOU'RE IT!"

Something slammed into Johnny's back, and, flapping his arms in a vain attempt to retain his balance, he fell forward and landed face first in the pool. He fought his way to the surface, sucked a gasp of air, and looked around for his assailant.

Leni grinned at him. "You can't catch me."

She turned and darted away. For a moment, he gaped after her, then he jumped up and gave chase. No one got away with pushing him into the pool. NO ONE.

Lana jumped into the baby pool and splashed water at Lincoln, "Hey," he laughed.

She splashed him again.

"Do something about it," she challenged.

"Okay, then."

He splashed her back.

Lori laid in the pool on her back. Luna came down the slide and crashed into her. "Ow!"

Johnny grabbed the hose and went after Leni.

"Stoppp!" she cried. "I, like, give!"

Since mercy was for the weak (and the Duffy), Johnny aimed the hose at her and slipped his thumb over the nozzle, making it spray crazily this way and that. Leni squealed, slipped in the wet grass, and went down hard, skinning her knees. Not even noticing, she popped back to her feet and went on. Johnny followed, but stopped when something wet and squishy struck him in the back of the head, making him stumble. He whipped around, ready to do battle.

A soggy diaper stared up at him.

A look of disgust twisted his features. He looked up, and Lincoln, Lisa, Luan, Luna, and Lana all pointed at Lily, who stood naked in the pool with her arms out on either side of her. "Gahhhh."

"It was her," Lincoln said.

Johnny furrowed his brows. "Sure it was."

"Really," Lincoln said. The lying glint in his eye gave him away. Lily was a baby and babies have weak arms. Only an eleven year old white haired little boy could hit like that.

Johnny sprayed him in the face. Lisa, Lana, and the other scrambled out of the pool, laughing, and Lily sat down. "Poo poo."

Some time later, someone broke out a fleet of Super Soakers. The Loud girls comprised one team and Lincoln and Johnny the other. They ran through the yard yelling, screaming, and shooting each other, and even though the heat was intense, they were having way too much fun to notice or to care if they did.

As sundown approached, the ice cream truck pulled up, bumping that new jingle by RZA because the old one was apparently used in minstrel shows or something. You know what else was used in minstrel shows? Singing and dancing. Better ban those too. "ICE CREAM!" Lola screeched.

"Frozen dairy treats!" Lisa added.

The Louds all ran to the truck like a pack of brain hungry zombies rushing a group of punks in a funeral home. Lynn patted her pockets. "I don't have any money," she said.

Everyone gasped.

"Neither do I," Lori said. "I gave everything I had to Johnny and Lincoln."

They all slumped their soldiers in disappointment.

Johnny and Lincoln looked at each other. As they had earlier, they shared a single thought. Johnny sighed deeply and threw his head back. He really didn't want to do this...but he wasn't a monster and he'd feel like total crud if he _didn't _do it. "I'll go get the money," he said.

The Louds all perked up and Lincoln nodded. _You did the right thing, Johnny, _that gesture seemed to say. _Now hurry up before I change my mind._

Out of 83 bucks, Johnny spent almost 30 on ice cream, but, you know, he didn't mind helping out his friends when they needed it.

After they all finished their ice cream, they disposed of their trash in one of the rusted and dented metal trash cans on the side of the house, where shadows grew long and the grass was so tall that it tickled your kneecaps, then went back to their play. At one point, Mom and Dad came out and threw themselves into the pool like a couple island natives sacrificing their bodies to the evil cannibal god making his or her home in their local volcano. "Oh, thank God," Dad said before giving himself to the water.

Johnny was glad he invited the Loud girls over.

They were fun.

And the fun lasted until long after the sun went down.

THE END


	24. Funny Business

It was never Lincoln Loud's intention to become the manager of a popular comedy duo, it just kind of...happened, the way things sometimes do.

For one thing, Lincoln didn't have a very rich sense of humor. Oh, things made him laugh alright, but not the traditional pie in the face TV cartoon crap that other kids liked. He and Johnny watched this horror movie once and in it, this artist and his girlfriend were arguing over when his latest piece would be done. The dude, sniffing like a cokehead, was all "You don't tell me when it's done, man, I tell _you _when it's done. You'll be the first to know, baby. I'll find you wherever you are and go in your ear IT'S FINISHED!"

Something about that struck Lincoln as hysterical and he laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks. Johnny just looked at him like he was crazy. _Brah, you good?_

Yeah, I'm good, I'm pissing myself laughing, aren't I?

There was another horror movie where these two detectives were talking about this serial killer, and one was sermonizing about how they needed to catch him. His partner, in this really stiff, forced way, goes "Y-Yeah! That sob killed my sister! He slaughtered 100 women!"

The absurdity of a random serial killer killing one hundred women, and the detective mentioning his sister being killed literally as an afterthought, sent Lincoln over the edge.

All that to say, he had a warped and bizarre sense of humor. Things like jokes, puns, and banana peels didn't do it for him.

You know, all the stuff Luan Loud liked.

Long before he met Maggie and fell head over heels for her like a teenage schoolgirl for The Beatles (or Dad for Sasha Banks), Lincoln had the _biggest _crush on Luan Loud. Every time she cracked one of her dumb jokes, he'd laugh himself into an early heart attack. He wasn't laughing because she was funny (she wasn't), he was laughing because she was cute and made him feel giddy and tingly all over. Just being around her made him giggle. Her warm, brown eyes, so full of light and life, her sly little smile when she cracked an extra bad pun, her vivaciousness; she was the type of girl who lit up the room, and Lincoln really dug that. Even now. He no longer had the hots for her, but her upbeat attitude and perky personality was nice. Johnny, Mom, and Dad were all Gloomy Guses, and it was really cool to have someone like Luan on tap.

But now that he was with Maggie, he was no longer so gaga over Luan that he was immune to the rancid quality of her humor. Seriously, puns are the absolute _lowest _form of humor. He respected her ability to come up with them off the top of her head, but that's like saying he respected someone who could fart on command. Cool that they could do it, but, c'mon, it's still a freakin' fart. Once or twice a week, Luan would drag him over to the Loud house and try her new material out on him. He used to love those weekly comedy shows for one because it gave him a chance to see and spend time with the girl he liked. Now he only did it because he felt bad for her. No one else would humor her, not even Johnny - when she asked them to listen, they all magically had things to do and places to be. She even tried Dad once. Her logic was (probably) that since he likes wrestling, he might like other things that suck.

Have you ever seen a black man go completely white? Lincoln had. "I...I have to rearrange my action figures," he stammered, then fell all over himself to flee. Luan, bless her, didn't realize that he ran from her terrible jokes. She thought he was literally going to play with dolls. Lincoln couldn't blame her, he supposed, since Dad was famous for playing with dolls, but that wasn't the point. He and Sergio hid out under a blanket in the attic until she was gone and Mom shouted the all clear.

Lincoln felt awful for Luan because she was truly passionate about her comedy. She was as dedicated to the humorous arts as he was to making money. And...maybe he was weird...but there's nothing as sad and heartbreaking as someone who loves something so much that they'll give every ounce of their soul to it...only to suck harder than an Orange Cassidy match. He resolved to help her with her material, but she was so headstrong, oh my God. She thought pies to the face were funny and that slipping on banana peels was the height of slapstick gold. Banana peels, man, come on, that's the oldest trick in the book.

You know what she needed? Some partners. You know, a couple of lesser comedians she could slap around and insult 3 Stooges style. The 3 Stooges were awesome. He tried to nudge her in that direction but it didn't quite take. "You want me to...slap Mr. Coconuts?"she asked and arched her brow.

"Yeah," Lincoln said, "it'd be hilarious."

She looked at the dummy, then very gently tapped the side of its wooden face. "Slap," she said dully.

Ugh.

"Okay, maybe not."

She reliably shot down every idea he fed her and nixed anything that she felt would "compromise the integrity of my act." She _did _bring him onstage once at a bar mitzvah for a little black boy in a wheelchair. She told him to "make yourself up like a clown" so he painstakingly recreated the clown get up John Wayn Gacy used to wear, just to see if she noticed.

She did.

And she _flipped_.

"You think you're funny, don't you?" she demanded.

"What?" Lincoln asked.

"Dressing up like a serial killer. That's not cool, Lincoln. You're insensitive. Why would you think that's funny?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he lied.

"Yes you do, you're smiling!"

Okay, she him there.

But she got him back onstage when she sprayed in the eyes with seltzer water. Did you know that stuff stings? If you ever see a clown catch a face full of seltzer and then run around like an idiot, they're not playing, they're really in agony.

"Not so tough now, are you?" she asked backstage.

Lincoln was busy flushing his eyes with tap water. "If I wasn't blind I'd kick your butt."

"I'll be waiting."

It was a promise.

Lincoln was raised better than to hit a woman, but it's 2020 and girls want to be treated just like boys, so it was open season. Luan was his friend, though. If it was Johnny or Liam or someone, he'd light them up, but he let Luan skate.

This time.

After that day, Lincoln threw his hands up in defeat. Luan was just going to have to figure things out on her own. Some people out there actually _liked _her kind of humor, so she had an audience, no matter how small...and childish...and worthy of pity. She just had to find it.

"Maybe you should do daycares," he suggested.

Lil Miss Thang didn't like that, so whatever.

She'd be 'ight.

Only she wasn't 'ight.

At the beginning of the summer, once the Pabstvirus stuff cleared up, she started looking for gigs in town, and not the normal birthday party stuff she'd been doing. Oh, no, she wanted _real_ gigs. She wanted to do her stand-up at restaurants, the community center, and the pet shop. She pounded the pavement in a pair of floppy red shoes and tried everywhere.

And no one wanted her.

Not even the old folks' home.

Depressed and at her wits' end, she came to Lincoln. As soon as he opened the door, she barged in and threw herself onto the couch with a sigh of dejection. Dad's face went milky white again and he rushed up the stairs. "I'm coming, Elizabeth!"

Mom poked her head out of the kitchen. "What?"

She saw Luan, paled, and hurried back into the kitchen before Luan could try anything. "I give up," Luan said with an exasperated sigh. "I'm done. All washed up. Hung out to dry. A has been who never was. I surrender, Linc."

First, Lincoln closed the door and hit the thumblock (because it's 2020, everyone be trippin'). Next, he calmly walked over and sat next to her, the couch groaning under his weight. He picked up the remote and turned the TV off, killing _Raw is War _just as Undertaker and The Ministry crucified Big Boss Man underneath the Titantron, much to the gaping shock of the fans. "What happened?" Lincoln asked patiently.

Luan sighed. "Okay, first, I went to the coffeeshop and talked to the owner -"

"Tad?"

Luan nodded. "Yeah, his name was Tad. He told me he didn't need a comedian on Friday and Saturday nights. Fine. Whatever. I went to Party Pizza -"

"Was Alex working?"

"Yes," Luan said, "that's who I talked to. She said they don't do live events."

Pfft. "Really?" he asked. "They do live events all the time."

"So next I tried Burpin' Burger."

"Was Leo there?"

"No, some fat white guy greasy hair and glasses."

"Oh, Pat. Me and Johnny are in his DnD group."

Luan sighed. "He said he wouldn't hire me if I was the last clown on earth, then told me to gtfo."

"Yeah," Lincoln said with a sympathetic nod, "Pat's a real jerk. Everyone knows it but no one will say anything because he'll fire them if they buck up."

Burying her face in her hands in the rawest expression of anguish Lincoln had ever seen. "Finally, I went to a street corner, but a cop ran me off."

"What corner?"

"Main and Vale."

"That's Officer Frankfurter's beat."

Luan shot him a dirty look. "How do you know all these people?"

What could Lincoln say? He and Johnny were men about town who were always hustling, always meeting people, always selling them things. They knew everyone. The guy who owned Trill's Comix, the Engineer, that wino who lived behind Quick-Stop, Dr. Anders, the uptight reverend who preached against sin and damnation but secretly visited the cathouse after church on Sundays, Sheriff Watson (all 400 pounds of him), and, jeez, a whole cast of zany characters that made Springfield look like a ghost town.

Out loud, he said, "I just do."

Luan opened her mouth to say something, then perked up. "That's it!"

"What?"

She jumped to her feet with renewed vigor. "It's genius."

"What's genius?" Lincoln asked.

"This is my ticket to the big time."

Okay, now he was getting annoyed. "Spit it out. What are you talking about?"

"You can be my manager."

Lincoln's jaw dropped. "M-Manager? I don't know how to be a comedy manager."

"You just get me gigs," she said.

He started to turn her down, but she gave him big, shimmery puppy dog eyes that he'd have to be totally ice cold to resist. "Alright, fine," he said, "I'll do it. But if you make any money, I want 30 percent."

To his surprise, she stuck out her hand. "You got yourself a deal. Under one condition."

"What?"

"I get a creative control clause in my contract."

They shook, and the moment Lincoln's skin touched hers, a crackling jolt of electricity shot up Lincoln's arm and into the center of his skull.

And not in a good way.

He yanked his hand away and Luan grinned. "Joy buzzer."

"Ow! Do that again, I'm out!"

"Okay, okay," she said, "just trying to keep my act _current._ Get it?"

Lincoln jabbed his finger at the door. "I'll call you."

Luan hung her head and left.

Two days later, he went into the coffee shop and talked to Tad, the owner, a tall, lanky man in skinny jeans and a scarf. He wore red Buddy Holly glasses with perfectly square frames and a gray knit cap even in summer; he was a coffee, movie, and book snob and sometimes Lincoln wanted to punch him. They were on good terms, though. "I already have a clown act," Tad said.

"Who?" Lincoln asked.

Giggles. Lincoln had no idea who that was but she was performing the next night, so he came down to see her. A short, pudgy girl with curly brown hair, she stumbled and fumbled across the stage for an audience of apathetic hipsters. Lincoln thought her act stank, and from the look of growing panic on her face, she thought so too.

Lincoln saw something in her, though. He saw her and Luan being doofuses onstage together, playing off one another, and he liked it. After the show, he found Giggles backstage at an old fashioned vanity with big light bulbs around the mirror. She saw him in the looking glass. "I'm not signing autographs."

Oh?

"I'm not here for an autograph," Lincoln said. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.

"Of course you're not."

"Why would I be?" Lincoln asked. "Your act's not that good."

In the mirror, Giggles' face darkened, then she sighed and hung her head. "I know."

"It's not terrible," Lincoln said. "In fact, I think I know what'll really put you over the top."

She turned in her chair. "What?"

"You need a partner," Lincoln said.

Giggles furrowed her brow. "A partner?"

"Yeah. A more experienced clown who can show you the ropes. Someone you can work together with like all those great clown duos. Laurel and Hardy. Abbott and Costello. Biden and Harris. You know what they say: Two heads are better than one."

A thoughtful frown creased Giggles' face and she stroked her thin. "Hmmmm. Where can I find an older and more experienced clown?"

Lincoln smiled.

And that was how he started to manage Giggles as well as Luan.

Predictably, Luan was _not_ happy. "I told you, Linc, I'm a one woman act."

They were standing in the middle of the bedroom she shared with Luna. Warm summer sunshine cascaded through the blinds and made little slats of brilliance across the floor and the too warm air pressed against Lincoln like a blanket. Luan, face painted white, put her hands on her hips, and her black beret slid down her forehead like it, too, was upset.

"I'm telling you, Luan, this is going to be great, just give it a chance."

Luan crossed her arms and whipped her head away. That was her way of saying _talk to the hand. _

"Look, Luan," he said soberly, "your act wasn't getting any attention, Giggles isn't all that good on her own. You guys need each other if you want to keep working in this business. Do you want to hang up your big red nose and call it a day, Luan? Do you want to be one of those unfunny Z-List jackasses who wind up providing commentary for World's Dumbest on TruTV?"

Luan's eyes widened and she jerked her head from side to side. "N-No, a-anything but that."

"Then you and Giggles need to work together and build yourself into a classic comedy duo. Otherwise, you might as well hang yourselves out to dry."

"Fine," Luan sighed. "But I'm _probably _not going to like it."

Lincoln laid his hand on her shoulder. Six months ago, he would have melted, but now all he could think was: _Girl bony af. _

Two days later, Lincoln called Giggles and Luan together for a practice session in his garage. Johnny sat in because the internet wasn't working and he had nothing else to do. Lincoln was worried the girls wouldn't get along but, much to his relief, they were fast friends, bonding over their mutual love of sucking. They did a two person dance routine that was mildly amusing, but Giggles couldn't get the hang of it and kept missing her cues, stumbling, and otherwise screwing up.

Calling in a favor (and using a coupon he'd been saving for a rainy day), Lincoln got them booked at the coffee shop. Tad didn't want to use them and before the show, Lincoln let them know that they were fighting an uphill battle. "You girls really gotta shine tonight," he said. "Go out there and knock 'em dead."

And boy, did they ever.

Well, Giggles did.

You ever heard that saying about everything that can go wrong, did go wrong? That's what happened to Giggles. During the dance routine, she ripped the seat of her pants; when Luan sprayed her with seltzer, her eyes were open and she went crazy running around in pain; at one point she fell into the curtain backing the stage and tore it down. In the closer, she and Luan mounted unicycles and pulled off an intricate figure 8 maneuver.

Or tried.

Because Giggles lost control and smashed into Luan. They both fell off and the thud of their bodies hitting the stage trembled through the floor and into Lincoln's teeth. "Ow, you freaking idiot!" Luan yelled.

In other words, the night was a trainwreck...but the hipsters loved it. Ironically. Or something. Lincoln didn't know, those people didn't make any darn sense to him, but they snickered, pointed, laughed, and pounded the tables. At the end, they even gave those two chuckleheads a standing ovation.

"I don't get it," he said to Giggles and Luan as they walked home under the soft electric glow of the lamps up and down Main.

"Well, I was in top form," Luan said, "and I carried the day."

Lincoln waved her off. "No, no. I think they liked watching Giggles mess up. And how you kept getting mad. It's kind of like smarks with wrestling."

Both girls looked at him funny.

"Well, wrestling's fake. Most fans know that. It's like...an acrobatics show with a storyline. Smarks - fans who know it's a work and follow the backstage, real life stuff - love it when real things make it into the ring. Like that time Scott Stiener ranked on Ric Flair just totally at random. He was supposed to talk about how great he was or something and use the chance to say a bunch of stuff about Ric Flair because he legit hated Ric Flair. Flair's feelings got hurt and they told Stiener to either apologize or take a two week suspension. He took the suspension. The smarks ate it up. They love peeking behind the curtain...just like those hipsters liked seeing you get legit upset with Giggles being a -"

He was going to say _moron, _but Giggles looked at him, and he changed course.

"So from now on, we have to do worked shoots."

"A what?" Luan asked.

"Something that looks like it's not part of the act but really is. Like you calling Giggles a name or acting like she messed up when she didn't."

Luan looked at him like he was crazy. "You're a strange boy, Lincoln."

"Yeah? Well, this strange boy is going to make you and Giggles famous in this town."

Though she was jaded from a long string of bitter failures, Luan was passionate, and where the river of passion flows, hope springs eternal. A little light crept into her eyes and one side of her mouth twitched up into a lopsided grin at the idea of fame. "You're going to have money."

"Yeah," she breathed.

"You're going to have fans."

"Fans," Giggles said in drawing wonder.

"You're going to have women!"

They both looked at him funny.

Whoops, got carried away in the moment. "I mean...men. You're going to have men."

Luan and Giggles both looked unsure. "I don't know," Giggles said, "I'm not really ready to date."

"Yeah, me either," Luan said.

Oh, Jesus. "It's an expression," Lincoln said, "you're both going to be very popular is what I mean."

"Now that I _am _ready for," Giggles said.

"Me too."

"Great," Lincoln said, "it's settled."

Phase one was developing a routine that blurred the lines between schtick and reality. Lincoln forced Luan and Giggles into his garage every afternoon for practice and brainstorming. Johnny drifted in and out and gave his opinion on this or that, but for the most part, they were alone, three people obsessed with succeeding, Luan and Giggles for the fame and Lincoln just to prove something to himself.

"Look, I know you guys like doing that lame Nickelodeon kidcom crap, but we're playing to an audience of adults and they don't want two chuckleheads cracking squeaky clean knock knock jokes. We gotta be edgy. We gotta have attitude. We gotta be _RAW." _

"Yeah!" Luan and Giggles cheered.

They came up with an edgy act that was sure to get the ratings they desired.

Their first night at the coffee house came the following night. Lincoln wore a Giants jersey and a leather jacket, his hair slicked back from his head. He spotted Tad at the smoothie bar and went over. "Linc, how's it going?"

"Hey, bro, what's up, bro?" Lincoln asked in a thick New York accent. "Look, bro, we got an awesome show for you, bro. I call it Crash TV."

Tad lifted his brow. "Uh...okay."

Ten minutes later, the place went dark, then Giggles and Luan came out on unicycles. They crashed into one another and Giggles - bless her heart - took a big bump off the stage, landing on a table that then collapsed. Everyone gasped. "Nice work," Luan said like she was angry. "You ruined our act."

Giggles got to her feet. "Sorry."

"I'm sick of hearing that. You screw everything up."

"Screw you, Luan," Giggles said. She climbed onto the stage and bucked up to her partner. "You do nothing but cry and complain. I'm sick of it."

The audience watched, mesmerized.

Suddenly, Luan and Giggles were rolling back and forth on the floor, slapping and pulling each other's hair. Giggles got to her feet, and Luan kicked her in the stomach. Giggles flew back and landed on a table, breaking it. She grabbed a sliver of wood and went after Luan. Lincoln waited a few seconds, then ran on stage. "Bro! Bro, knock it off, bro, this isn't in the script!"

Luan slapped him (harder than they practiced), and Giggles speared him Goldberg style. "That's for being a sexist," she said.

"And a racist," Luan added and dropped an elbow on him.

While he crawled off to "die" in a corner, Luan and Giggles launched into a bunch of woke jokes about Trump and Republicans that got the hipster kids raising the roof. By the end of their set, word of mouth had traveled far and wide and the coffee shop was packed. "We did it, bro," Lincoln said as they walked home.

"Drop that accent," Luan said.

"Yeah, it's annoying."

The next night, they altered the routine a little because Luan was sore and didn't wanna take any bumps. Giggles, ever the team player, agreed to take them for her. She slipped, fell off the stage, got punched in the face, and took a chair shot to the back. She popped the place when she came out in orange face paint and a Trump wig. The hipsters loved it and by the end of the night, they were chanting her name.

Two nights later, he had Giggles dress as Biden and Luan as Trump, and they held a mock debate in the park, drawing a crowd that seemed to grow and grow. Luan said "Believe me, it's going to be _yuge_," a lot, while Giggles rambled out of her head and walked around sniffing people. The crowd loved her and cheered her name again. Lincoln didn't notice the green cast to Luan's face.

Before long, Two Chuckleheads was being booked all over town. Everyone wanted them to do their act. Giggles was the breakout star and Lincoln gave her a huge push. Things were going great...then Luan started showing up late to practice, talking back, and refusing to do things. "I have creative control over my character," she'd say and cross her arms. Every time the fans mobbed Giggles but ignored her, she'd get all mad. "It's not fair," she said one time.

"Take a few bumps then, bro," Lincoln said, "that's why they like her, bro."

The next night, Luan tried and wound up twisting her ankle.

From there, things went from bad to worse. She used her creative control to get all the best lines and bits for herself then started asking to do more solo stuff. She whined. She cried. She made so much trouble because she was jealous that Lincoln quit the act. Giggles talked him into coming back and it was only for her that he did. She meant it. She busted her butt every night for this trope. She did the work Luan wouldn't. _That's _why she was over.

On Friday night three weeks later, they played to a packed house at the coffee shop. Luan and Giggles were supposed to have a match, as Trump and Biden respectively. Giggles was going to win. At the last minute, Luan changed it. "Creative control," she said with an evil smirk.

Oh? It's going to be like that?

Fine.

Lincoln and Giggles went out onstage and Lincoln told Giggles to lie down.

She did.

Luan came out, saw, and put her hands on her hips. "Really?"

"You want the win so bad, take it, bro," Lincoln said.

SIghing, Luan walked over and put her foot on Giggles' chest.

Lincoln counted. "There, bro, you win," he said.

"This is why this act is in the darn shape it's in," Luan said, "bullcrap like this."

She wheeled around and walked away.

The crowd was silent.

Three weeks of constant crap from Luan bubbled up to the surface and Lincoln _flipped_.

"Three weeks ago, I left Two Chuckleheads…and quite frankly, I didn't know if I was gonna come back. And the reason I didn't know if I was gonna come back or not is because from day one that I have been in Two Chuckleheads, I 've done nothing, nothing but deal with the bullcrap of the politics behind that curtain. The fact of the matter is, I've got a girlfriend, I've got a family at home, and I really don't need this crap. But let me tell you the reason why I did come back. I came back for Giggles, who busts her butt night in and night out for Two Chuckleheads."

A couple people cheered, some booed. "I came back for you people. I came back for everyone who cares about this act. You know who doesn't care about this act? Luan Loud."

Boo. Hiss.

"Cause let me tell you people what happened out here on this stage tonight. All day long I'm playing politics with Luan Loud, because Luan Loud tonight wants to play her creative control card. And to Luan Loud, that meant that tonight in the middle of this stage, when she knew it was bullcrap, she beats Giggles. Well guess what, Luan got her wish, Luan got the fame and attention she wanted and she went the hell home, and I promise everybody or else I'll go in the goddarn grave, you will never see that piece of crap again!"

Boos, cheers, catcalls.

"Luan, you skinny, afro-having doody-head, kiss my grits!"

He stormed out and left too.

At home, he sat in the garage, drinking Chocolate Cherry Cola and seething in silence. Johnny came in and sat next to him. "Dude, that was harsh."

"You were there?"

"Yeah. I was. You went full Vince Russo on her. In fact, you're acting and dressing just like him. This whole thing is melting your brain."

"Bro, I -"

"Shut up. Luan got jealous. So what? She works really hard and everyone was paying more attention to Giggles. Her feelings were hurt and she felt bad about herself. I thought you'd get that, instead you basically killed her. Good job."

Lincoln started to argue, but it was true. He should have been more understanding of where Luan was coming from. Instead, he was lazy and ignored it. Now he felt bad. "You should go talk to her."

"Yeah," he sighed, "I should."

He went across the street and knocked on the door. Lori answered. "Luan here?" he asked.

"Upstairs."

Lincoln thanked her, went up stairs, and found Luan in her room. She saw him and narrowed her eyes. "Look," he said, "I'm sorry, I was really insensitive, okay? I get that you were jealous of Giggles -"

"I wasn't jealous," Luan said, "what's there to be jealous of? Sh sucks."

"Yes you were," Lincoln said. "It's okay. I should have been more understanding but I was a jerk. You've worked really hard to get where you are and seeing someone else get popular while you got ignored must have been a real gut punch."

Luan opened her mouth, then closed it and turned away. "Yeah," she mumbled, "kind of."

"I'm sorry," Lincoln said again, "I just wanted both of you to succeed. I got carried away."

Luan nodded. "I'm sorry I was a butthead. I should have been more mature about it."

They hugged.

Two Chuckleheads broke up shortly thereafter but Luan and Giggles remained friends. And to this day, people in Royal Woods talk about Lincoln's sick promo on Luan Loud at the Bash at the Coffeehouse 2020.

THE END.


	25. Two Boys and a Baby

Johnny was down with the Loud girls. They were lit af. Sure, the younger ones had a creepy and uncomfortable crush on him (probably because they knew him and he was therefore "safe"), but overall, they were cool. Lori was a sick gamer, Lynn was always DTE (down to exercise), Luan kept him rolling, Lana could fix anything, Lisa was a super duper super genius, and Mr. Loud's beans and franks were freaking delicious. He wasn't a Loud girl, technically, but the way he wore a pink apron and shook his butt while he made cookies raised some serious questions.

Anyway, Johnny liked the Louds even though they got on his nerves. That did _not _mean that he wanted to spend his entire Saturday babysitting one of them.

Every August, Mr. and Mrs. Loud took the brood to visit her Great-Great-Aunt Ruth, a bunion ridden supercentenarian who straight up remembered Woodrow Wilson being president. Ruth lived in a canary yellow Victorian with gingerbread trim on a side street facing Kalamazoo's East Park and had a nurse help her get around. She was old, mean, and hateful, but Rita made the girls - and Lynn Sr. - visit anyway.

The only one who didn't have to go was Lily.

See, babies and animals are sensitive to the presence of evil, and every time Lily got around Ol' Ruth, she started wigging out like a fat kid dropping his ice cream. Mrs. Loud arranged for Carol Pingrey, Lori's BFF, to watch her for the day but at the last minute, Carol canceled: Something about rampaging geese and a broken window. Lincoln and Johnny were out on the sidewalk in front of their house, hawking random trinkets from the garage and attic (mainly Dad's old wrestling crap), when Rita rushed over just before ten. "Boys," she said, "I need a favor."

"Sure," Mrs. Loud Johnny said.

"What do you need?" Lincoln asked.

"Our sitter canceled and I need someone to watch Lily for a few hours."

Johnny was very quick on the upchuck and knew what Mrs. Loud wanted at once.

"Oooh, I don't know," Johnny said.

"Yeah," Lincoln said, just as quick as Johnny, "we're kids."

"I know, but I'm desperate," Mrs. Loud begged

Lincoln and Johnny looked at each other. Lily was great. She really was. But that was when they could pass her back to her mom or her sisters. If Mrs. Loud left Lily with them, they would be responsible for her. Including diaper changes. Yuck.

"Twenty bucks," Johnny said.

Rita sighed. "Fifteen."

"Seventeen," Lincoln said.

"Sixteen fifty."

Lincoln and Johnny looked at each other again. That would be eight twenty five a piece. Not a kingly sum but eight twenty five they wouldn't have had otherwise. "Alright, fine," Johnny said and sighed deeply. Was he making a huge mistake? He felt like he was making a huge mistake.

Then again, how hard could it really be? Sure, changing diapers sucked but Lily was a chill baby. While he and Lincoln did their hustle, she could sit in the grass, play, and do whatever it is babies do while their caregivers are busy.

Mrs. Loud went back across the street and returned with Lily and a diaper bag crammed with stuff. "This has everything you need," Mrs. Loud said. She then rattled off a long list of things that Johnny didn't catch because he kind of zoned. Okay, yeah, I get it, powder her butt, put her in a poop bag, give her a bottle and some snacks. Sheesh, lady, stop worrying so much, huh?

"Mommy loves you," she said and kissed Lily. She handed her to Lincoln, and Lily smiled broadly at him. "Take good care of my baby," Mrs. Loud said, voice hitching with emotion.

"Will do," Johnny assured her.

She lingered for a moment, perhaps having second thoughts, then turned and hurried across the street before she could change her mind. Lily clapped her hands and blew a snot bubble. "Well, Lil," Johnny, "you're hanging with the big dogs today. Think you can keep up?" He tickled her chin and she laughed.

On the opposite side of the street, the van backed out of the driveway, swung around, and slowed. The driver side window buzzed down and Mrs. Loud leaned over Mr. Loud's lap from the passenger seat. "Remember what I told you," she called.

Lincoln and Johnny both waved. "We will," they said in unison.

The van pulled off, and Lincoln and Johnny watched it until it was gone.

"Alright," Johnny said, "time to sell some junk."

"Time to _try_," Lincoln said.

Of all their business ventures, yard sales did the worst. Franklin, being a main thoroughfare between Main Street and Central Avenue, was fairly heavily trafficked but no one ever wanted to buy random stuff from a couple of kids. Strange, right? They barely made any money from tag sales but, hey, at least they got to sit down.

"And try we will," Johnny said.

Lily squirmed out of Lincoln's lap, sat in the grass, and ripped out a big handful.

For ten minutes straight, people walked past on their way north and south. Johnny did his best "step right up" pitch like a spielman on the ballyhoo, but no one took the bait. No one even _looked _at him. "This is dumb," he said.

"Right?" Lincoln asked. He looked down, saw Lily eating grass, and started. "Lily! No!"

He picked her up and sat her on the table. She bent one leg, shoved her toes into her mouth, and started to suck, making Lincoln and Johnny both cringe. "That's gross," Johnny said.

"_GASP! SHE'S ADORABLE!"_

A man with a bald spot and a woman in a sundress stood on the other side of the table, the woman with her hands clasped to the side of her face and little hearts in her eyes.

"That's Lily," Johnny said, "she's hanging out with us."

"She's the cutest thing ever," the woman said.

"Best looking baby I've seen all morning," the man added. He took out his wallet, removed a one, and gave it to Lily. "Here you got. A tip for being so precious."

Lily gooed and gahed, and the couple oohed and ahhed.

When they were gone, Johnny looked at Lily. "Well, I'm glad someone around here is -"

An idea struck him like a football to the face, and his eyes widened. Lincoln raised his brow. "Dude, I know that expression. What are you thinking?"

Johnny grinned.

He was thinking of a way to get their yard sale _cooking. _

And that was how the day's misadventures began. He and Lincoln sat Lily on the table, facing the street, like an item for sale. Everyone who passed stopped to adore her. None of them gave her money, though, which defeated the purpose. Lincoln said they should charge people for looking at her, but Johnny rejected that because it was dumb. Seriously, Linc, grow a brain, I'm tired of doing your thinking for you. "Let me handle this, Lincoln."

When a woman walked by, Johnny called out. "Excuse me, Miss?"

She stopped and turned.

"Hi, I'm sorry to bother you, but we're trying to raise money to get our little sister here..uh…"

What? What were thy trying to get her? Darn it, he should have thought about this beforehand. What could he and Lincoln possibly get for a baby that required them to have a freaking yard sale?

"...food," he said at length.

"Food?" the woman asked, incredulous.

Lincoln cocked his head. "Food?"

"Yeah," Johnny said. "Uh, you see…"

It hit him.

"We're really poor and if we don't sell some of this stuff, she won't have food. Or milk. Or anything."

The woman's features softened. "Oh, I'm sorry."

She dug in her purse, took out a pocket book, and slipped out a twenty. "Give me...just give me that Hulk Hogan action figure."

Wait, what? Twenty dollars...for a single action figure? Look, Johnny had pulled some schemes in his day, and he wasn't above lying or stretching the truth to make some money, but that was insane. He couldn't, in good conscience, accept twenty dollars for a freaking Hulk Hogan action figure.

To make himself feel better, he threw in a dented metal lunchbox with Andre the Giant's mug on the front. As soon as the woman was gone, Lincoln and Johnny looked at each other. "Dude, that was sick," Lincoln said.

"I know," Johnny replied giddily. "And it's all thanks to Lily." He reached out and tickled her, and she laughed. "Who's our little money maker? You're out little money maker. Yes you are."

The next person to come along was a fat man in a business suit. Johnny put on his best puppy dog face and gave him the same sob story he gave the couple, only this time he made sure to sniff, tear up, and reference their parents' "unfortunate accident." The man paid ten bucks for a coffee mug with TNA across the front, and gave Lincoln and Johnny ten dollars a piece "for being good brothers."

The cycle repeated itself a dozen times over the next half hour until Johnny had his story down to a science. His, Lily's, and Lincoln's parents were killed in a horrible accident and they were doing their best to raise her on their own. To his shock, they sold out. He took the money inside, grabbed a bunch more stuff, and came back out.

Lincoln was alone.

Johnny looked around and frowned. "Where's Lily?"

Slowly, Lincoln turned, and the look of horror on his face stopped Johnny dead. "Dude, where the eff is Lily?"

"S-Social Services took her."

Johnny's heart dropped to his feet. "_WHAT?"_

"A social worker came," Lincoln said, numb with shock, "and said they got a call about an endangered baby, so they...they took her."

Johnny spun on his heels and started to pace. "Oh, God, this can't be happening," he said and raked his hands through his hair. "This can't be happening, this can't be happening…"

Oh, no, oh jeez, this was bad, _this was bad._

"We gotta get her back before Mrs. Loud finds out."

"Yeah." Lincoln, "or we can kiss that sixteen bucks goodbye."

Johnny narrowed his eyes. "The money's not important," he snapped. "Come on."

They fetched their bikes from the garage and rode into town. The whole way, Johnny practiced what he was going to say in his head.

The social services office was in the basement of the county courthouse, a big stone building overlooking town square. A bored looking secretary sat at the counter, and when Johnny asked about "a baby they just brought in," she blew a bubble with her gum.

"Have a seat."

Johnny and Lincoln sat in the waiting room. It was a small, drab place with white walls and gray industrial carpet. Posters for abuse hotlines, foster care programs, and government assistance programs stared accusingly down at Johnny, and he fidgeted nervously in his chair. The air grew heavy and hot, and by the time a woman poked her head out of a door leading to the back and called him and Lincoln in, he was sweating bullets.

The woman led to a cramped office. Lily sat on the floor and happily played with a stuffed rabbit. Relief washed over Johnny and his knees buckled. "So," the woman said, "what's this about."

Feeling two inches tall, Johnny told her the truth. "We're just babysitting her. All that stuff we said was a lie to get people to buy our stuff."

Lincoln helpfully held up the diaper bag. "Look, she has food in here. And diapers. And everything else."

"Please, we're really sorry, it was just a prank, bro."

The woman scrunched her lips. "Your parents aren't dead?"

"No," Johnny said, "but please don't call them, they'll be really mad."

The woman hummed. "Well...okay. But I need to see for myself."

She drove Lincoln, Johnny, and Lily back to Lincoln and Johnny's house. "Okay," Johnny said, "watch this."

Lincoln cupped his hands to his mouth. "Yeah, this stuff belongs to our dad. Enjoy."

A moment later, the door burst open and Dad ran out. "MY STUFF!" he wailed.

Mom came after him and held him back. "No, Liz! They're selling my things!" He started to cry and hyperventilate.

The social worker handed Lily to Lincoln. "Alright then. Carry on."

After that, Johnny cleaned the yard sale up and took Lily inside where it was safe. Dad was upstairs curled into a ball and hugging a plastic WCW ring to his chest, so the TV was free. Johnny plopped down in Dad's armchair and heaved a deep sigh. The stress and fear of Lily being taken by a freaking social worker broke over him and he started to laugh. "Dude...we almost screwed up _bad_."

"I know," Lincoln said. He sat on the couch and put Lily on the floor. She rolled to her hands and knees, crawled over, and pulled herself up on the arm of the chair. Johnny picked her up and sat her on his lap. "You gave us a heck of a scare," he said, "yes you did." Then to Lncoln. "Put on some cartoons or something."

Lincoln grabbed the remote and cycled through the channels until he came to Blarney the Dinosaur. Johnny's gord rose and he threw up in his mouth just a little. "No, man, not this cra -"

Transfixed, Lily stared at the TV, her eyes wide and shimmery.

Ugh.

"Nevermind. Leave it."

Lincoln dropped the remote with a deep sigh and kicked his feet up onto the coffee table. "I hate this show."

"Me too," Johnny said, "but Lily's really into it."

Lucky for Lily and Lily alone, there was an epic Blarney marathon in progress, episode after episode. Finally, Johnny got so bored that he fell asleep, and Lily curled up on his chest, shoved her thumb into her mouth, and closed her eyes. A half hour later, she woke up crying, and Johnny started. "I think she's hungry," he said. "Grab her food from the diaper bag."

Lincoln got a plastic container of banana mush and a pink plastic spoon, came over to the chair,and knelt. He pulled the lid off, dipped the spoon in, and collected a glob of yellow. "Here comes the airplane," he said. He tried to get her to take it, but she turned her head away. "Come on, it's good, look."

He held it to his mouth and smacked his lips, careful not to actually eat any. "Yum yum."

"Dude, she knows you're faking," Johnny said. "Actually try some."

"Man, I don't wanna, it smells gross."

Lily cried harder.

"Okay, okay."

He looked at the spoon, swallowed, and brought it to his lips, taking a teeny tiny bite like Squidward tasting a Krabby Patty.

"Hey," he said, "this is actually pretty good."

He took another bite. Then another.

Johnny squeezed Lily's diaper. Soggy. "She needs a change."

While Lincoln did whatever, Johnny changed Lily, making sure to squeeze lots of powder on her butt so she didn't get a rash or anything. So much came out that it coated his face. "I look like Tony Montana," he said.

He got Lily dressed and then sat down again. "Alright, Linc, come on." He looked over…

...and did a double take.

Lincoln sat on the couch surrounded by empty containers of baby food. A crazy mess of yellow, red, green, and purple covered his mouth and chin.

He burped.

"Dude," Johnny cried, "did you really just eat all of Lily's food?"

"No," Lincoln said guilty, "there's…"

He siftd through the litter.

"Actually, yes, I did."

Lily started to cry.

"Go get some applesauce," Johnny said, disgusted.

Lincoln got up, went into the kitchen, and came back with a jar of applesauce.

Lily's face lit up.

After eating the entire thing, she started to cry again and wouldn't stop. They sang to her, put Blarney back on, rocked her, burped her, and gave her a bottle, but she kept on going. Finally, Lincoln went upstairs and when he came back, he was holding his prized stuffed rabbit Bun-Bun. He held it out, and Lily stopped like throwing a switch. She took it, looked at it, then held it to her chest and let out a stream of babbling babytalk that sounded happy to Johnny.

Whew.

"Dude, you love Bun-Bun," he said.

Lincoln shrugged. "Eh...I guess it's time to pass it on. Lily needs him more than I do."

The little girl clutched Bun-Bun to her chest, shoved her bottle into her mouth, and fell promptly asleep.

She was still asleep and hour later when Mrs. Loud came through the door. "So how was it?" she asked.

"Great," Lincoln said.

"We just stayed here and chilled," Johnny said.

"Thank you boys very much," she said. She handed them their money and picked Lily up. "She ate all of her food."

"Every last bite," Lincoln said.

"Has she pooped?"

Johnny shook his head. "No, why?"

"Because," Mrs. Loud said, digging through the diaper bag, "she even ate the grape laxative. Hm. I guess it's expired."

Lincoln's guts twisted.

Oh no.

"BRB," he said and jumped up.

A moment later, he called out from the second floor hall. "Dang it! I didn't make it!"

Johnny favored Mrs. Loud with a sheepish smile. "Can, you, uh, leave one of those diapers here, please?"

THE END


	26. Tricked

The sun sank behind the half-barren treetops, leaving the sky anmic shades of orange and pink, and a chilly wind blew through the boughs, rustling them and sweeping dead leaves across the pavement like the burnt husks of a defeated insect army risen from the grave. Grinning jack o'lanterns flickered with heckish light and wisps of fake spider silk billowed ghost-like in the breeze. The first wave of trick-or-treaters toddled up and down the sidewalks, two and three year olds clutching their parents' hands and not quite understanding why people kept giving them candy. One day, when they were older, they would, and they would love Halloween just as much as Johnny did. For now, they were too little so they couldn't enjoy it.

Poor suckers.

What was it about the fall season in general, and Halloween specifically, that was so freaking great? Was it the way the leaves blazed torch-like in the golden sunlight? Was it the tangy smell of wood smoke that seemed to hang ever in the chilly air? Was it pumpkin picking, hot apple cider, corn mazes, and costumes? All of those things were awesome, but it wasn't any one of them alone. Taken piece by piece, they were just things, but together, they formed a rich mosaic of sights, sounds, and smells that enchanted the soul and delighted the senses. Johnny loved summer because it was warm and you didn't have to go to that prison called school, but if someone held a rubber band gun to his head and told him to pick his absolute favorite season, he'd be hard pressed _not _to pick fall.

He didn't know what day fall "officially" started, but to him, it was mid-September, when the heat of summer lessened and the sunlight took on that gilded cast that seemed to only exist in autumn. Slowly, the leaves bled dry, going yellow then red, and the nights became longer, cooler. Fall was a time of magic and beauty, a season of rust and fire, an age, if age it could be called, of gradual death as the earth's yearly cycle neared its end, but also its beginning.

When you looked at it like that, it made perfect sense that fall would stand out as the Spooky Season. Pagans in the British Isles believed that the veil between our world and the world of the dead wore thin during autumn, and Hunter Spectre: Specter Hunter agreed. "Spirit activity is _waaay _off the charts in fall," he said on an episode of ARGGH! Maybe those pagans were onto something. Maybe the curtain separating life and death really _did _get thin during autumn. Maybe haints, spirits, ghosts, and boogens _did _walk the blustery, midnight hills. Johnny was skeptical about the supernatural, but when the icy night-wind roared in the eaves and all the trees shed their leaves to look like twisted gray hands reached up from shallow graves, he believed just as adamantly as that dude in The Monkees - you know, the ones who sang that song "I'm a Believer"?

Johnny kinda liked spooky stuff period, so Halloween was right up his alley. For that glorious one month leading up to the big day, no one looked at you like you were a weirdo for enjoying horror movies or talking about that sick Freddy kill from _Nightmare on Elm Street 20: Freddy Murks Some Punk Teenagers_. In Ocober, all manner of ooky, dooky, Snooki, spooky stuff was both acceptable and _encouraged_. That alone made Halloween the bomb.

Then there was the candy.

Johnny and his brother Lincoln both had a whole mouth full of sweet tooths (sweet teeth?). They each had a stash of sugary treats hidden under their beds, a virtual cornucopia of cookies, cupcakes, chocolate, and other mouth rotting goodness. Together, they ran a number of small businesses, like installing their own vending machines in high traffic areas around town, and sometimes, they made B-A-N-K BANK. They bought video games, clothes, things like that, but they peed most of their profit away on candy and snacks. Halloween was great because they could get their fix for free. Free! Free was Johnny's favorite price.

It wouldn't last forever, though. Lincoln and Johnny were getting up there in years and one day, they'd have to retire. Not because they wanted to, of course, but because people trip about teenageers trick-or-treeating. Already, there were houses they had to skip because the old people who lived there thought eleven was "too old" for trick or treating and wouldn't give them anything. Like, ok boomer, go burn your draft card some more. Really, where do you get off talking to _me _about maturity when at twenty, you were rolling around naked in the mud at Woodstock so freaked on acid that you could smell the music? Wow, so mature.

Whether they wanted to or not, Johnny and Lincoln would have to give up the game.

But not this year.

He wasn't sure about next, though. Maybe they'd have a growth spurt and pop some hair on their upper lips.

That meant that this year could very well be their last.

And because of that reason, they hatched a plan to milk it for everything it was worth.

On October 10, Johnny and Lincoln went over to the Loud house across the street and sweet-talked Leni into making them some costumes - this wasn't part of their plan, per se. They just didn't want to pay an arm and a leg at Spirit of Halloween. What is it with those places, anyway? They always pop up in abandoned buildings at the beginning of the month, then they're _gone _on November 1. Creepy. Maybe they were run by vampires seeking to capitalize on all the empty real estate left over from the financial crisis and the only time they could move into a town without being invited was October, since the veil was so thin.

Or maybe not.

Anyway, they found Leni chained to her sewing machine fixing a pair of shorts that Lori's big ol' butt ripped through. "I, like, have a lot to do," Leni said with a sigh. "I don't know if I can."

Johnny and Lincoln looked at each other and nodded. Johnny whipped out a crisp one dollar bill. "Not even for _this _bad boy?"

Leni's jaw dropped. "That's totes more than my allowance. Give it here." She lunged at it, but Lincoln shot out his hand and held her back.

"Are you going to make our costumes?"

"Duh," Leni said, "right away."

"Perfect," Johnny grinned. He gave her the bill and that was that.

In his eleven, almost twelve, years on earth, Johnny had learned that the best plans were usually the most simple. Look at war and football. They use the same plays and strategies over and over and over again. Why? Because they _work_. If something gives you a win time after time after time, you stick with it. Johnny's plan to get as much candy as humanly possible was a work of simplicity: They'd use the Loud girls.

Well, let's back it up first.

The foundation of the plan rested upon careful and meticulous planning. See, there are two types of people in this world: Those who give you a single piece of candy, and those who load you up. After years of trial and error, Lincoln and Johnny had figured out which areas - indeed, which houses - yielded the highest payoff. The richy parts of town (North Brentwood, Oak Dale, Lawnwood) collectively gave out roughly 250,000 pieces of candy every year. That's a _lot_. Lincoln figured that they could each walk away with several thousand pieces. He sat down and plotted a list of routes that would ensure they hit every house and neighborhood that gave out the most. There were five. "Too bad there aren't more of us," Johnny said, "we could -"

He blinked.

That's it.

And that's where the Loud girls came in.

Lincoln and Johnny picked up their costumes on the 25th. While there, they called all of the Loud girls into the living room for a meeting. Lincoln explained their plan and beamed with pride because it _was _awesome. Way to go, bro.

Lola was the first one to speak up. "What's in it for us?"

A chatter of agreement went through the Louds.

"Well," Lincoln said, "we figure this. We'll split the total yield fifty-fifty. You guys get half...we get half.'

Johnny wasn't thrilled about sharing their candy with the Louds, but if they did fair work, they deserved a fair cut.

"Yeah," Lynn said, "but if we do that, we won't have enough for ourselves. We have to split it ten ways."

Lincoln nodded. "Yes, you will, but you will each get ten times more candy than you would otherwise. What do you say?"

They mulled over his proposition for a long time, then whispered amongst themselves. "Alright," Lynn said, "we'll do it."

Now the big day was here. The sun had just set and the older trick-or-treaters were coming out of their burrows. Johnny sat at the kitchen table having a Chcoolate Cherry Cola with Lincoln while Mom bustled around making treats - bat shaped brownies, frosted spider cookies, things like that. She wore a pair of yoga pants and fur-lined Uggs, a cup of pumpkin spice coffee waiting by the sink to be needed. Every fall, she went full BWG (basic white girl). Dad went full SWM: Stupid wrestling mark - but he did that every day. He was currently sitting in the darkened living room and watching Halloween Havoc 1997, WCW's yearly Halloween pay per view before being bought out by WWF. Hogan and Roddy Piper clashed in a steel cage.

Lame.

"You about ready?" Johnny asked Lincoln.

Lincoln was dressed as Shazam (the hero from the 2019 movie, not the genie from the 90s movie Shazam, which, by the way, doesn't even exist even though people think it does). He wore a red Spandex suit with a yellow lightning bolt on the chest, gold wrist pieces, and a cape. Johnny was dressed as Spider-Man, his mask currently sitting in his lap.

"Yeah," Lincoln said, "I guess we better get going,"

Outside, Johnny put on his mask. It was dark and chilly now and porch lights up and down the street beckoned candy-hungry children to come and get theirs. He and Lincoln crossed the street and met the Loud girls in the yard. Lori was too cool to trick or treat and went to a party with Bobby but everyone else was present. Standout costumes included Lola's (she was a queen complete with crown and royal scepter) and Lynn's (she wore a football jersey and helmet but was made up like a zombie). Lily was dressed as a pumpkin, her face and limbs sticking out. Lucy wore a black dress, pointed black shoes, a black vest of some kind, and a spiked choker around her neck. "Who are you supposed to be?" Johnny asked.

"Nancy Downs."

Lincoln furrowed his brow. "Sid VIcious's girlfriend?"

Lucy opened her mouth but Johnny cut her off. "No, that chick from _The Craft."_

Lincoln looked at him. "The one who looks like a male eighties metal singer?"

"Yeah, her."

"That girl was crazy."

"Right?"

"I'm not alone," Lucy said. "The spirit of Grandma Harriet is with me."

A random gust of cold wind washed over them.

"Cool," Johnny said. She was just messing around and being Lucy, right? Heh. "Anyway, gang, we gotta split up. Lucy, Lana, Lisa, Lily, come with me. Gold team: Lynn, Lincoln, Lola. Silver team: Leni, Luan, Luna. Any questions?"

For a moment, no one said anything, then Lynn pumped her fist. "Gold team rules!"

"Right, then," Johnny said, "lets go."

Each group had a hand drawn map, and each was to hit the best route first, then the second best if they had time. Lincoln and Johnny, expecting a huge haul, strategically placed wheel barrows along the routes in case they were needed. Alpha Team - Johnny's - was to hit sector one, which encompassed Pine Street all the way into the heart of North Brentwood. Gold Team was to take Oak Avenue, Oak Dale's main drag. Oak Ave was probably the best stretch in Royal Woods. It was lined with upscale shops and restaurants that catered to wealthy clients, and every Halloween, all the business owners stood outside with huge buckets of candy and gave every kid who came by a mega butt ton.

From Franklin Avenue, Alpha Team headed north and crossed Main Street to get to Pine. Big groups of kids dressed as superheroes, vampires, and ninjas shuffled along the sidewalk and light up decorations blinked from lawns and front porches. "Grandma Harriet hopes we get butter tarts," Lucy said, "she loves butter tarts."

That cold wind sprang up again.

On their way north, they split up and hit every house that didn't have a huge line of trick or treaters. Johnny got three full sized candy bars, a caramel apple wrapped in a paper towel, and a can of caffeine free Pepsi. He met the others at the end of the street. Lamps spaced evenly apart formed a tunnel all the way up Pine and into the ritzy neighborhoods surrounding it. "Okay, guys," he said, "this is when stuff gets real."

"Let's go," Lisa said gamely.

"Poo-Poo," said Lily from Lisa's arms.

The houses gradually got bigger and the lawns more spacious. The cars in the driveway became nicer and nicer, Hondas and Buicks giving away to Bentleys and Jaguars. The people here didn't go all out for decorations like the poor folk on the other side of Main, but that didn't matter, as long as they gave out the good stuff, Johnny didn't give a frick.

"Okay," he said, "we have to split up to cover more ground. Lisa, you and Lana take Lily and hit the right side of the street, Lucy and I will take the left. Use Lily's cuteness to get more candy. Lil, let me see your cute face."

Lily tilted her head to one side and folded her hands to her cheeks. Her eyes got big and shimmery and her mouth puckered up in a little smile. Some teenage girl dressed as a hippie stopped. "Awww, she's so cute. Here, take my bag."

She handed her bag to Lisa, then snatched a bulging pillowcase from a little boy dressed as a mummy. "Hey!"

"Here, take his too."

Johnny grinned.

This was gonna be easy.

* * *

Across town, Lincoln slung his bag over his shoulder, stumbled, and almost fell. He and the Louds had hit all of the businesses on Oak Ave _and _a bunch of houses in the surrounding neighborhoods, and they were each loaded down with candy. Borrowing Johnny's approach, Lincoln put his best foot forward in Lola - she was an adorable little girl and boomers love adorable little girls. The moment their latest mark opened the door and saw her, they melted and gave her all the candy. It was sweet.

"My back in breaking," Lola grunted. She had shoved the scepter through her belt and carried two overflowing bags of candy. Lynn held three.

"There's a wheelbarrow up here," Lincoln said.

They were on a street corner west of Oak. All of the houses had a bland, upperclass sameness about them that was exacerbated by the lack of light. The streetlamps were far apart and the only source of illumination came from the skeletal face of the moon. Lincoln looked around, got his barings, and nodded to the left. "This way."

He and Johnny stowed the wheelbarrow in a stand of bushes behind a fire hydrant. Lincoln sat his bag down, went in, and felt around for it.

It was gone.

What the?

He whipped out his phone and turned on the flashlight.

Yep, it was gone.

Darn it!

Heaving a dejected sigh, Lincoln crawled out and stood before Lynn and Lola, both bent and stooped under the weight of their candy; the former's arms shook and the latter's legs wobbled like they were going to snap.

"Okay, guys," Lincoln said gently, "I have a little bit of bad news."

"What?" Lynn grunted.

"Someone jacked my wheelbarrow."

Lola and Lynn looked at him, sweating and trembling.

Then fell over.

Eight blocks to the north and west, Leni led her sisters down the sidewalk, her shoulders thrown back and her mouth running a mile a minute. Luna and the others had turned her out and she didn't notice when one ducked away to hit one of the big houses overlooking the street.

"...so I was like _totes no, _and she said _like, just do it. _I said _as if._"

Luan and Luna looked at each other and rolled their eyes. Luan held up her hand and opened and closed it in the international sign for _talk, talk, talk. _Luna swallowed a laugh and nodded. Lori had nicknames for all of her sisters. Luna's was Shagg for The Shaggs, a rock group notorious for sucking; Luan's was Chucklehead; and Leni's was Motormouth. Sometimes Leni would start talking and just...not...stop. It's like she got stuck in talking mode and when she ran out of things to say, she would bring up random stuff. Luan leaned into Luna's ear. "We should ditch her."

"Right behind you, bro," Luna said.

They both stopped and tiptoed backwards. When they were far enough away that Leni couldn't hear them, they turned around and hurried off. Leni continued on, none the wiser. "But, like, I thought that was dumb so I didn't do it." She looked left and right. "That's a big house. You should go there, Luan. I bet they have lots of candy."

Luan didn't reply.

"Luan?"

Stopping, Leni turned around.

Luna and Luan were gone.

Gasp!

That meant…

She, Leni Loud, was alone.

"Guys?" she called. Her arms crossed slowly and protectively over her chest. "Guys? Where are you?"

Most of the trick or treaters were a block and a half back. Here, the sidewalks were empty and the houses dark. Getting scared, Leni backed into someone's front yard and bumped into something. Her eyes widened and her blood turned to ice water. "L-L-Luan?"

She turned around.

A witch with an ugly green face stared down at her, ten feet tall, no twenty, Its eyes lit up and it moved from side to side with mechanical stiffness. "I'll get you, my pretty."

Leni let out an earth shattering scream and turned to run, but tripped over her own feet and landed face first in the grass with a breathless _oof_. She pushed herself up to her hands and knees and froze.

A giant spider crouched next to her, its eight black eyes fixed and staring and its crushing pinchers inches from Len's face.

"SPIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIDERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!"

Like a frightened cat, Leni leapt into the air and hit the ground running. She didn't dare look back lest the witch and her pet spider get her.

When Luna and Luan found her half an hour later, she was curled up on the sidewalk and hugging herself. "Dude, you okay?" Luna asked worriedly.

"Sp-Sp-Sp-Sp take me home!"

Luna sighed and helped her up. "Alright, Motormouth, let's go."

Leni hated Halloween.

Christmas was better.

You get to drink hot cocoa and no spiders are even alive because of the cold.

Holding their older sister between them, Luna and Luan started home.

* * *

It was a long, hard journey but Lincoln, Lynn, and Lola reached one of the other wheelbarrows. They dumped their bags in and continued on, going to every house they possibly could, skipping ones where the porch light wasn't on. Pretty soon, they needed another wheelbarrow. Kids and parents looked at them funny, and if they didn't hide the wheelbarrow before going up to one of the houses, the people giving out candy would comment on it and only give them one piece of candy each.

At 9, just as everything was beginning to wind down, Lincoln and Lynn parked their wheelbarrows next to each other and Lincoln called Johnny. "We're at the corner of Mitchell and Alvarez."

"Be there in a jiff," Johnny said.

Lincoln shoved his phone into his pocket and leaned against a tree trunk. Lynn plucked a Caramello from the wheelbarrow, ripped it open, and shoved it into her mouth. "You guys were right," she said, spraying soggy bits of chocolate. "This is a crazy amount of candy."

Before Lincoln could reply, a low rumble rose in the west. He looked up just as a dump truck sailed into view. Johnny sat in the passenger seat, Lucy and the others next to him. A shining chrome-bot sat behind the wheel, Lisa in its lap. "Whoa," Lynn marveled.

The truck came to a stop and Johnny grinned. "Anyone need a ride?"

"Where did you get this?" Lincoln asked.

"Lisa threw it together," Johnny said, "an AI's driving. We got sick and tired of holding out candy."

"You mean she…? Never mind. Help us with this."

Johnny jumped out to help Lincoln and Lynn load the candy into the back while Lana, Lola, Lucy, and Lisa went to hit a few last houses. The bed of the truck was piled high with candy, and Lincoln couldn't help a breathless, "Wow."

"We really made out this year," Johnny said and slapped the side of the truck with a metallic clang. "Even after we split it up, we'll have enough to last all year."

Lincoln opened his mouth but a high, warbling, "STOOOOOP!" cut him off.

"That sounded like Lola," Johnny said.

He and Lincoln ran around the side of the truck. Lola, Lana, Lucy, and Lisa stood on the sidewalk in a tight cluster, quivering in fear. Hank and Hawk, the biggest dudes in Royal Woods Middle, loomed over them with evil grins on their faces. They were dressed like the Road Warriors (one of Dad's favorite AWA tag teams) complete with spiked shoulder pads, face paint, and mohawks. "Hand it over, little girl," Hawk said and reached for Lola's bag. She threw her head back and let out an ear piercing wail that made everyone in a 400 yard radius wince.

They were trying to steal the Loud girls' candy!

Lincoln and Johnny looked at each other. "Not on our watch," Johnny said.

They sprang into action. Johnny did a sick and perfect backflip and landed on Hank's shoulders. Hank stumbled and wheeled around, Johnny holding onto his mohawk with one hand and pounding his head with the other. Lincoln rushed Hawk and speared his legs, knocking him down. He scrambled onto Hank's back and twisted his arm up between his shoulder blades. Hank screeched like a kicked cat and tried to buck Lincoln off. Johnny slipped his arms through Hawk's from behind and laced his hands across the back of the Road Warrior's beefy neck. "Masterlock!" Johnny cried.

"You like to steal little girls' candy?" Lincoln yelled, spittle flying. "You like to pick on kids, jabronie?"

Hank started to cry. "Please stop hurting me."

"I haven't even begun to hurt you," Lincoln promised.

He and Johnny tied both boys into literal human pretzels and tossed them into a dumpster that just happened to be there, waiting for them. They brushed their hands and stood back to back like superheroes. "You saved us!" Lola cried. The Loud girls crowded around them and jumped up and down.

It felt good to save the day.

"Grandma Harriet says thank you," Lucy said.

A cold wind sprang up and chilled Johnny to the bone.

"Luce," he said, "stop doing that."

Lucy hung her head. "Sorry."


	27. Get the Message

Lori Loud literally loved to game. When she was six, her parents bought themselves a used Nintendo 64 and a box of games from a yard sale. Dad hooked it up in the living room and sat down with her and Leni. "This is Mario 64," Dad said and gripped the controller, "the best video game ever made."

At that age, Lori knew nothing about video games, but the moment th vibrant colors and silly red hat wearing character filled the screen, she was in love. She watched her father play through the first level wth wide, adoring eyes. It was like a cartoon...but _you _were the main character. "Let me try!"

"In a minute, honey," Dad said, "I just have to -"

"LET ME TRY, DADDY! LET ME TRY!" She kicked her legs and whipped her head from side to side, her face turning red and the tip of her tongue shooting lizard like though the gap where her front teeth should have been. Dad and Leni both looked at her like she was crazy - Lori _never _threw major tantrums (only little ones). "Alright, alright," Dad said and shoved the controller into her hands, "sheesh."

Lori had never known a moment of greater bliss. In one hour, she understood the game and the controls well enough to beat the first couple levels. By the end of the day, she was so good that Dad could scratch his already balding head. "I don't get it," he said, "it took me years to get this good. What's your secret, honey?"

Because she was a snotty little kid with missing teeth, she had no idea _what _her secret was. As she grew older - and better - she realized what it was: Passion. The only way to be good at something is to first love it. Love it with all your heart, love it with every fiber of your being, eat it, sleep it, breathe it, _live _it. You also have to keep doing it over and over and over and over and over again. But if you really love it, you'll do that anyway. From Mario 64, she jumped to 007 Goldeneye, also on the N64. When she beat that, she begged her parents to get her a used Playstation. She beat every game for it that she could get her hands on: Resident Evil, the first two Grand Theft Autos, Metal Gear Solid, Medal of Honor. She shoveled driveways in the winter, mowed lawns in the summer, and raked leaves in the fall, saving everything she made and putting it toward her gaming. She bought a PS2 when she was thirteen, then an XBox 360 two years later. She played everything. EVERYTHING. Even genres she didn't like.

And when the day was done and she went to bed, she had classic arcade games downloaded on her phone to help her fall asleep. Pac-Man, Dig Dug, Pitfall, Breakout, Mappy, Pole Position, even the infamous E.T., which was so freaking bad that it is often cited as the primary contributing factor to the Video Game Crash of '82. So many copies went unsold that they buried huge piles of them in the desert. It was bad, yeah, but not _that _bad. Of course, Lori loved gaming so maybe she was a little kinder in her assessment than she should have been.

During the rare moments that she wasn't playing video games, she was thinking about playing video games or otherwise engaged in the world of gaming. She watched every episode of The Angry Video Game Nerd twice, and made it a point to play all the games he reviewed. Some of them, he was right on the money. Others...he was just a big baby. "It's so haaaaard." No it's not. I beat it my first try, James. Tighten up. Then again, he _was_ a comedian and if she knew one thing about comedians from living with one, it was that they exaggerate for the sake of humor.

For a while, she considered doing a similar webserie, but decided against it. AVGN had the market on bad games completely cornered and no one would want to watch a series on _good _games, would they? Boring. People wanted to watch something interesting, not a competent gamer playing an all-around great game. Pfft, what was interesting about that? Nothing. Nothing was interesting about it at all.

Or so she thought.

As the oldest of ten, Lori was defacto in charge of her siblings and liked to think that she knew everything. Each day, like a normal teenager, she realized that she didn't. She was wrong just as much as she was right - just don't tell the others.

One of the things she was completely wrong about was people wanting to watch good gamers play good games. In hindsight, it made sense - people paid to watch good athletes play good sports. A few people in a Discord server she frequented mentioned a game they watched on Twitch and how much money he made from playing Minecraft and Fortnight.

That gave Lori an idea.

Mom and Dad only made so much and things were tight at the Loud house. Lori had to bust her hump to pay for games, her cellphone, and other stuff. If she could make a little extra on the side doing what she loved, then...awesome. If she was good enough, she might even hit AVGN levels and make her living playing games.

Was there any job on earth more perfect than that?

At the beginning of June, she created a Twitch account and started streaming. At first, she had one, maybe two, viewers, but slowly, word got out and she watched in astonishment as her viewcount grew and grew. This was awesome! She even made money from donations.

The first hint of trouble wasn't even really a hint of trouble at all. People would make comments about how she was good "for a girl" and express surprise that she wasn't "one of those girls who just sit there and look pretty."

Uh...okay. She knew that a female gamer was a rarity and didn't take offense when guys were shocked that the awesome dude they were playing online with turned out to be a chick. If they got sexist or dismissive or somthing, then yeah, but she wasn't in the business of screaming SEXIST PIG at people for no reason. Who does that? Angry, bitter man haters, that's who.

The second sign was when people would ask her to wear certain things when she played. It started innocently enough - wear that tank top you wore last week - then got really stupid. One dude wanted her to wear balloons on her shoulders. Okay, she did, and got tipped well for it. Then he said something about having a balloon fetish and she took them off. "Dude, that's gross," she said, "get out of here."

Maybe Lori was naive, but she didn't know that some girls streamed themselves playing games and let guys simp on them. They acted sexy, dressed sexy, and tried to get guys to give them money for _being _sexy. Uh-uh, not Lori. She was a serious gamer and she didn't like not being taken as such. "I'm not an egirl," she would say to her fans as she played, "so if that's what you want, move along."

The thing was...simps paid _big _time, and after a while, she realized that she had a _lot _of simp fans who were only there because she was a girl. Fine, whatever, but she wasn't taking requests or acting like an anime girl or whatever BS Pokimane did.

One day in early August, she got her first PM from CMB-11. _I am big fan of urs and luv the way you play games._

She replied with a generic response - _thanks, glad you like my stuff_ or something - and she thought that was it, but CMB replied. When she didn't instantly hit him back, he replied three more times in a row. The last time, he used a heart emoji. Oh, great, Lori thought with an eyeroll, another lovestruck simp.

Ob, but she was wrong. He wasn't just any simp, he was SUPER simp. He'd pop up every time she streamed. The little chat window on the right hand side of the screen, where people texted her and each other, would fill with his messages. It always started with _hi _followd by three smiley faces and ended with everyone calling him a cringelord because he was _that_ embarrassing.

9pm; _I want to mary u lol. _

9pm: _Just joeking lol_

9:01pm: _How r u?_

9:01pm: _I love this game we sould play it together sum time._

9:02:pm: _How was ur day?_

9:02pm: _Lol mine was good I saw a game n store that reminded me of u lol_

9:03pm: _Did you see my other texts?_

It was super creepy...but also kind of sad. Lori was kind of a deep thinker, and after months of being face to face with simps and neckbeards, she understood them a little better than some girls might. The guys who watched her for being a girl were lonely, socially awkward, and craved human contact, especially from the opposite sex. They had likely been rejected again and again, and being rejected hurts; in their own weird way, they tried to compensate for their lack of female contact by engaging girls online. Some were very inexpert at it, some were actually witty and charming, and could easily find a girlfriend if they just had a little more confidence.

Everyone wants attention and affection and not having it drives one kind of crazy. Lori understood that and she felt bad for those guys. Not bad enough to play video games naked or anything, but bad enough that she constantly stopped herself from being a bitch when they got on her nerves. She tried to be nice to CMB and address him once or twice a session, but he was so cringe she could hardly stand it.

Before long, he was asking if he could DM her so they could "be alone."

Ew, dude, no.

When she didn't respond, he slid into her inbox anyway talking about how beautiful she was and how much he wanted to see her brush her hair and paint her toenails for him. "Sorry," she typed with strained patience, "I don't do that. I play video games."

"Ok sorry for being annoying lol."

Two days later, in the chat, he told another user that he wanted to "drink her bath water."

"That's sick," Lori blurted, "someone's bath water? Really? What's wrong with you?"

_Not just any bath water, _he typed, _yours, m'lady. _

Oh, gosh.

A few days later, he said something that chilled her.

"You looked really good in that sweater and jeans shorts."

She had never worn a sweater or jean shorts on her streams, but she _had _worn them earlier that day when she and Leni went into town.

Was he…?

No, couldn't be. It was just a coincidence.

Then the cards started showing up in her mailbox. None had a return address and all were penned in the same blocky, child-like hand. One of them was signed: yours forever CMB.

What the freak? He had her address?

She blocked him, but the cards kept coming, followed by phone calls where the only sound was heavy breathing or, sometimes, music, always something sappy and romantic. Except for the one time he played "Every Breath You Take" by The Police.

Presently, she was sitting on the edge of her bed and hugging herself. All day, the back of her neck prickled with the feeling of being watched. On her way home from school, she was certain that someone was following her, but every time she looked over her shoulder, no one was there. She was strong...she was capable…

But she was also getting scared.

Something moved in the corner of her eye, and she whipped around with a sharp gasp.

A branch tapped against the window. She let out a sigh, got up, and went to the pane, staring up at the moon.

She did not see the dark shadow dashing away, did not see the camera it held and the picture of her on its screen.

* * *

_Knock-knock-knock._

Lucy opened the door and Lincoln and Johnny came in. A roar of piped cheering, clapping, and hooting filled the room, as though an unseen audience was _really _happy to see them. Johnny put his hands on his hips and grinned to himself, basking in the adoration of his fans, and Lincoln looked around with a puzzled frown. "Where's that noise coming from?"

"Yo," Luna said from the couch. On TV, Kramer stood in the middle of Jerry's apartment, doing pretty much the same thing Johnny was: Smiling stupidly and waiting for the crowd noise to die down before saying his lines.

Ew, people still watch Seinfeld? Gross.

"Are you here for our date?" Lucy asked Johnny.

Johnny blinked in confusion. "Date? What date?"

"The one I'm planning right now."

"No," Johnny said and pushed Lucy out of the way, "we're here to see Lori."

Inspired by Lori and her wild success online, Lincoln and Johnny ran a gaming channel on Twitch. Johnny wanted to do a collab with her because she had so many more followers and they - Lincoln and Johnny - desperately needed some traffic.

"Okay," Lucy sighed, "but first...can you hug me?"

Johnny arched his brow, but he could feel Lucy's puppy dog eyes from behind her bangs, and he was a sucker for puppy dog eyes. "Okay. Fine. But just for -"

Lucy swept him into her arms and squeezed his so tightly that his spine nearly snapped. His eyes bugged from his head and a grunt burst from his throat. Lucy rocked him from side to side, blushing deeply, and Johnny looked at Lincoln. "You better go on without me," he grunted.

K.

Leaving Johnny to it, Lincoln climbed the stairs and went to Lori's room. She sat on the edge of her bed, holding herself, and when she heard him, she jumped a foot. "Lincoln," she hissd, hand going to her chest. "What are you doing here."

"Johnny and I were wondering if you wanted to collab with us on Twitch."

Lori's face went white and she shook. "I-I'm not doing Twitch right now."

Say what? "Why?"

"I have a lot going on right now."

"But -"

"Go away, Lincoln," she snapped. "Leave me alone."

The venom in her voice practically pushed Lincoln into the hall. "Okay, okay, darn," he said.

On his way down the hall, he bumped into Johnny. "Dude, what was that?"

Lincoln shrugged. "I dunno. Lori yelled at me and threw me out of her room."

"Yeah, I heard that." His brows angled down in an angry V and he started rolling up his sleeves. "No one yells at my brother but me." He started down the hallway, but stopped when Lisa popped out of the shadows.

He and Lincoln both screamed and clutched each other.

"I couldn't help but overhear Lori's conduct. While I agree with your outrage, I must urge restraint. Lori, you see, is currently being stalked and isn't handling it very well. She's upset and afraid."

Johnny pushed Lincoln away, his face a mask of concern. "Stalked?"

"Yes."

She told them everything, and as Lincoln listened, anger rose in his chest. He considered Lori his friend and he didn't like it when people messed with his friends. No wonder she snapped at him, he'd be on edge too if some rando from the internet was following him around and sending stuff to his house.

"How do you know all this?" Johnny asked when Lisa was done.

"I have cameras stationed throughout the house," Lisa said, "for research purposes."

Johnny and Lincoln exchanged an uneasy glance.

Okay...weird...but whatever.

"I intend to track down this stalker and give him what for," Lisa said, "as you know, however, I am only a four-year-old. My diminutive stature is neither imposing nor intimidating. I require -"

Holding up his hand, Johnny said, "Say no more, fam. We'll do whatever it takes to put Lori at ease."

"I appreciate it," Lisa said, "if you'd step into my la-bor-a-troy…"

In Lisa's lab, Johnny and Lincoln sat in straight back chairs while Lisa settled in at her computer. Lisa turned to the screen. "I took the liberty of reading one of the cards Lori's stalker sent her. The lack of a return address implies that it was not sent through the post."

"You mean...he put it in the mailbox himself?" Lincoln asked.

"Precisely," Lisa said. "I positioned a camera at the mailbox but he hasn't been back sense. However, I have his IP address and can, using methods not available to the average person, pinpoint his exact location to within several blocks."

She typed something on the keyboard, and a flurry of green text flashed across the screen, making Lincoln dizzy. It finally stopped and he shook his head. "Aha, here. CMB-11 lives in the vicinity of Waterloo Street."

Waterloo Street was four blocks south of Franklin.

"I suspect that he was already aware of Lori prioror to her Twitch career," Lisa said.

"That makes sense," Johnny said.

"If the both of you will be so kind, I would like to conduct a search of sorts this Saturday." Lisa turned in her chair and regarded them. "I don't know how exactly to go about it, but I very much wise to see this matter put to rest. I…" here she faltered and flicked her eyes to her lap. "I don't like how frightened Lori is."

Johnny and Lincoln got up, each laying a comforting hand on one of the little girl's shoulders. "Don't worry, Lise," Johnny said.

"We got your back," Lincoln said.

Lisa offered a wan smile. "Thank you," she said.

"No problem," Lincoln and Johnny said in unison.

* * *

Late Saturday morning, Lincoln and Johnny met Lisa at the Loud house, then, together, they walked to Waterloo Street, a residential lane lined with tiny, ultra modern houses. "He lives well," Johnny noted.

The people here were all middle class and had good jobs.

"He certainly does," Lisa said.

First, they walked all of the streets surrounding Waterloo, taking down every address and copying down every last name from every mailbox. Next, they parked their butts on a bench at a bus stop while Lisa consulted her computer. She put in all the raw data they had gathered. In moments, they had the names, titles, and property deeds of everyone in a one mile radius. "CMB was a popular R&B pop group from the early 90s," Lisa said, "but I have a feeling that it might be the stalker's initials."

"CMB's great," Johnny said with a grin. Mom and Dad were huge fans.

"Right?" Lincoln asked. "The 90s didn't _all _suck."

"Gentleman, gentlemen," Lisa said, "focus. I'm preparing to crunch a very complicated sequence of numbers based on census data, school, police, and civil records, and online tracking. I require absolute silence."

Johnny and Lincoln both zipped their lips.

Lisa's fingers flashed across the keyboard and ranks and ranks of numbers, letters, and pictures flickered over the screen. Johnny kicked his legs and Lincoln twiddled his thumbs. Johnny scratched the back of his neck, and Lincoln watched a line of cars pass in the street. Day-o. Daaaaaay-o. Daylight come and me wan' go home.

Come on, Lise, sheesh.

"Dayo. Daaaaaaayo."

Johnny picked up where Lincoln left off. "Day, me say day, me say day, me say day."

Now together. "Daylight come and me wan' go -"

"SHUT UP!" Lisa roared.

They fell silent.

Five minutes later, or maybe it was five years, Lisa said, "Got it."

"How?"

"I'm not sure, of course," she said and tucked the laptop under her arm, "but I believe I have the culprit."

She led them to a small ranch house on the corner of Johnson and East. At the door, she knocked.

Moments later, a black boy about Johnny and Lincoln's age answered. He may have been as tall as Johnny, but he was hunched over like Quazimodo. His face was peppered with acne and big glasses magnified his fevered eyes. He licked his chapped lips with a long, lizard-like tongue and wrang his hands. "Can I help you?" he asked.

Check it, dude sounded just like Eurkel.

Ew. Who is this creature?

"Clyde McBride?" Lisa asked.

"Yessssssss," he hissed, "that is I."

"Do you know Lori Loud?"

For a moment, Clyde's eyes darted back and forth between his visitors...then he tried to slam the door in their faces. Johnny sprang at him and pushed it back open, and Lincoln grabbed McBride by the front of his shirt. "You're stalking Lori, aren't you?"

"No!" Clyde screeched. "I'm wooing her."

"You sick punk," Johnny said. He grabbed McBride's arm and twisted it behind his back. McBride let out a girlish wail and thrashed weakly in his grasp.

"Listen here, butthead," Lincoln said, "leave our friend alone or you're dead meat."

Tears streamed down McBride's face. "But I love her."

"You're a creep and you're scaring her."

"Nooo, she is my precious."

Johnny slammed McBride into the wall with a crunch of breaking glasses. "We're going to break your legs next."

"NOOOOOOO!"

"Leave Lori alone," Lincoln said. "If I hear you're still stalking her, you're a corpse, got it?"

McBride didn't reply, so Lincoln backhanded him.

"Okay! Okay!" McBride sobbed.

Johnny shoved him away and Lincoln pointed at him. "We're watching you, sicko."

McBride, curled up on the floor, peed himself and started to cry.

"That's that," Lincoln said as he, Johnny, and Lisa walked away.

"I don't think we'll be hearing from him again," Johnny said and dusted his hands

"I hope," Lisa said.

"Don't worry," Lincoln said, "he got the message. Loud and clear."

On the way back to Franklin Ave, they stopped at Carl's Ice Cream and Johnny treated everyone to soft-serve heaven. "I feel badly for McBride," Lisa said. "He's obviously a freak of nature who cannot connect with his peers on a social level."

"He shouldn't be a hunch-back creep then," Johnny said.

And that was that.

After ice cream, they went back to the Loud house. Lori was in her room, wearing a sweater and looking frumpy. Her hair stuck out at weird angels and dark bags hung under her eyes. She paced back and forth, stopping only to peer through the blinds. When they came in, she yelled at them to close the door because "He might see me."

"Lori," Johnny said, "don't worry about him."

"We took care of him," Lincoln added.

Lori stopped. "You did?"

She looked to Lisa for confirmation, and she nodded.

"We beat him up and told him to leave you alone."

Lori let out a shaky breath and sank down on the edge of her bed. "Thank God." She ran one shaky through her hair. "I'm done with Twitch. I don't want to be rich and famous anymore."

"Whoa," Johnny cautioned, "not so fast -"

"No," she said, "it's more stress and trouble than it's worth. I'm done and you two should be done too."

Lori meant it, she _was _done with Twitch. She was happy to just be her and to play games she loved. She didn't need anyone to watch her.

And after careful consideration, Lincoln and Johnny followed her example. They went over to her house often and played games with her.

They were all they needed.

No one else.

THE END.


	28. Pasture Bedtime

Sleeping was not one of Johnny's favorite things. It ranked somewhere between going to the doctor and doing chores. Sleep, you see, is a massive waste of time. For six to eight hours, you're just laying there doing nothing (except eating spiders, if the factoid is to be believed). Johnny was a can-do kind of kid who was always on the go. You gotta hustle in this life and when you're laid up in bed, drooling on your pillow, you're losing out. Ben Franklin once said something like "Eat to live, not live to eat" and that's how Johnny approached snoozing. He could get by on five and a half hours with an acceptable level of morning time grogginess; any less and he'd have a thumping headache and achy eyes. Every so often, exhaustion overcame him and he went to bed early, but his typical schedule was between five and a half and six hours of slumber per night.

As he wasn't a stan for sleep or the sleep clultre, as it were, the concept of a sleepover struck him as kind of dumb. It's like...hey, guys, let's hang out, but be asleep while we do it.

Hooo boy, exciting. And maybe when we wake up we can all bebop down to the dentist and get a root canal.

He first became aware of the sleepover by way of cultural osmosis. He saw them in movies, TV shows, and elsewhere. Oh, Spongebob, he remembered seeing it in Spongebob. You know, the episode where Pearl has her friends over and Mr. Krabs is tweaking because he's afraid they'll drink all his root beer? To him, sleepovers - or slumber parties - were a chance for teenage girls to giggle, talk about boys, and, idk, pillow fight or something. Johnny was a handsome young man (per his mother), what did he want with a slumber party? Nothing, that's what.

The closest he came to a sleepover was that time last summer he and Lincoln camped out overnight in the woods north of town. They hiked out early in the morning and made camp on a forested ridge-line overlooking town; through the trees, you could see flashes of the Royal River and some of the buildings along River Road and the whoosh of passing cars of Route 29 which ran two miles behind them sounded so close that you'd swear you were about to get run down. It wasn't exactly the wilderness, but to two boys of eleven, it was the epitome of freedom. They pitched a tent, cooked hotdogs and marshmallows over an open fire, and told each other scary stories until they both shook and piddled. They laid their sleeping bags out and slept under the stars, waking just as dawn's first light slipped tentatively through the trees.

Now _that _was cool because it was rugged and manly. They didn't wear footie pajamas and paint their nails.

Sleepovers...yeah, they _were _for girls.

Which is why he was kind of confused and more than a little taken aback when Liam, his and Lincoln's bowl-haired friend, invited him to a sleepover at his farm.

It was a bitterly cold afternoon in January and all of the trees were bare and skeletal. Johnny and Lincoln were sitting with their squad at one of the tables in the Royal Woods Elementary lunch room - the tenth finest eatery in Royal Woods after that gas station on Union that sells three day old corndogs and the dumpster behind the medical research center. Soup was on and brother, it was gross. Stella poked her beef patty and grimaced, and Sid regarded her half frozen mashed potatoes with a disgusted little nose crinkle. Liam, on the other hand, chowed down like he was starving. Johnny couldn't help but appreciate the kid's metabolism. He ate like a 300 pound truck driver and never gained an ounce. Johnny was lean himself but if he ate as much as Liam did, he'd look like Poppa Wheelie by Christmas. "I'm havin' me a sleepover," Liam announced, spraying food across the table, "y'all's all invited."

"Sleepover?" Johnny asked, the word foul in his mouth.

"Oh, that sounds like fun," Stella said.

"Sleepovers rock," Sid proclaimed.

Johnny and Lincoln looked at each other. They were vastly different people but they had the exact same thought: Ew.

"I dunno," Johnny said, "I'm, uh, washing my dreads that day."

Liam's brow knitted in confusion. "I didn't even say what day it was."

"What day?" Lincoln asked.

"Why, Saturday, of course."

"Yeah," Johnny said, "that day."

Sid rolled her eyes.

"That's more important than hanging with your crew?" Stella asked. "Wow, you're a bad friend."

Alright, Johnny resented that remark. "I'm not a bad friend, I just have a prior engagement that day."

"No you don't," Sid said, "you're lying."

"He's probably afraid we'll see him sleeping with his teddy bear," Stella said.

They giggled and Johnny's face turned red. "I don't sleep with a teddy bear. And neither does Lincoln."

"Yeah," Lincoln said, "we're manly men."

"Wide side hustles," Johnny added.

Stella's eyes glinted with mischief. She and Sid exchanged a glance, and both smiled in that sadistic way that only adolescent girls can manage. They looked at him, and from the matching expressions on their faces, Johnny knew he was in trouble. "No you're not," Sid said.

"You're little tiny babies," Stella said. "You probably pee on yourselves at night. That's why you don't want to come."

"Yeah," Sid said, "I bet you guys wear Goodnights."

Johnny's hand clenched in a fist of rage and Lincoln's teeth ground together with a gravel-like crunch. Not too long ago, they were dweebs - I know, I know, hard to believe. Kids roasted them all day long and twice on Sunday. There was nothing...nothing...Johnny hated more than being mocked. He did _not _wear diapers. He did _not _sleep with a teddy bear. And he most certainly was _not _afraid of the dark. Sometimes he was afraid of what might _be _in the dark, but that was just common sense.

"We're not babies," Lincoln said tightly.

"And we don't pee ourselves," Johnny said.

Sid grinned. "Prove it."

"Oh, we will," Lincoln said.

"We're coming to that sleepover and we'll show you," Johnny said. "We'll show you _all_."

Like a well-oiled machine, Lincoln and Johnny got up and took their leave. In the hall, Johnny growled. Literally growled. "We'll show them."

"Yeah," Lincoln said.

"They think we're fraidy cats," Johnny said, "well we'll see who the fraidy cats _really _are."

Lincoln stopped him. "How?"

Darkness flickered across Johnny's face like a shadow over the surface of the moon. "I have an idea."

He laughed.

Evilly.

Saturday afternoon, Johnny threw an aged and rotting canvas duffle bag onto his bed and started packing. He had never spent the night at someone's house before (save for his grandparents') and had no idea what to expect. Did Liam's farm have running water? Better bring some moist towelettes. Did he have electricity? Gotta grab a flashlight just in case. Liam was a cool dude and all but Johnny could totally see him living in a shack with dirt floors and shadow puppet theater instead of TV, so he had to be prepared.

Lincoln, always thinking one step ahead, had packed the night before. Johnny had no idea what extras his sour-cream colored brother included and kind of wished he took the time to watch what Lincoln shoved into his bag instead of scrolling through Joe Biden memes on his phone. Oh, well.

Done, he compressed the contents of the bag as best he could and zipped it up. It was originally Dad's gym bag (so it didn't get very much use) and supposedly belonged to Kerry Von Erich, a wrestler from World Class Championship Wrestling, a regional promotion based in Dallas, Texas, but when Dad brought it to a noted wrestling historian, he found out it was a fraud. Some dude literally wrote _Carry Van Eric _on the side in Sharpie and sold it to him for, like, 400 bucks. Dad was so upset that he threw it across the room. _Johnny, you can have it. _

Okay. A bag's a bag.

Slinging Carry over his shoulder, Johnny went downstairs. Dad stood in front of the TV, where Hogan battled The Ultimate Warrior, and cheered Warrior on. That would have been all good and well if he wasn't _dressed _like Warrior. Picture a three hundred pound black man spilling over a tight pair of wrestling trunks and wearing colorful tassels on his arms. Johnny had to stop and really take in his father's markism. Am I really related to him?

In the kitchen, Mom peeled potatoes for dinner and Lincoln came in from the garage. "Put your bag in the car," Mom said.

Because it was a good 100 degrees below outside, Mom insisted on driving them, which was cool with Johnny. Liam's farm was waaaay on the other side of town, and if he and Lincoln took their bikes, they'd probably be dead by the time they got there.

"Is Dad coming with us?" Johnny worried.

"No."

"Whew."

When Mom was done, they piled into the car - a 2000 Dodge Caravan with rust, bad brakes, bad steering, bad tires, bad seats, and a freaking tape deck - and drove over to Liam's.

Liam's farm was spread out across a series of lumpy hillsides south of town. The pasture out back was filled with cows and cocky chickens strutted around the muddy dooryard like they had something to prove. It was your typical farm. White house, red barn, grain silo, other farm type stuff.

Mom navigated the van to the house and stopped at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the porch. "Have fun," she said into the rearview mirror. "If you need me, call."

Lincoln pulled the door open and jumped out, reaching behind the seat for his bag. Johnny got out, slung Carry over his shoulder, and stepped back from the van. Mom drove off and Johnny watched until she was gone. He walked over to Lincoln and looked up at the house. The white clapboard siding was grimy with decades of dirt and the green shudders flanking the windows looked like they were one stiff breeze from falling down. Wind chimes, potted plants, canned rockers, and other bric-a-brac cluttered the porch like junk at a second rate tag sale. A cold wind blew over them, and the most awful smell Johnny had ever experienced assaulted his nose. Lincoln smelled it too: He crinkled his nose and let out a breathy "Ugh".

"What's that _reek?" _Johnny asked.

As if in response, a cow mooed.

"I hope it smells better inside," Lincoln said.

They went up the steps, treads creaking underfoot. At the top, Johnny opened the screen door and knocked. Muffled footsteps approached and Liam appeared. When Johnny saw what he was wearing, he did a double take. "Howdy, y'all," Liam said brightly.

Footie pajamas.

The man was literally wearing footie pajamas.

And they were pink.

"Uh...hey," Lincoln said. He sounded as knocked-off-balance as Johnny felt.

"Come on in, it's colder than a witch's toe out there."

He stepped aside, and Johnny went in ahead of Lincoln. The first thing he noticed was the haze of bluish smoke hanging in the air. The second was the decor. Talk about old school. It looked like 1974. Shag carpet, plaid furniture, knick knacks - it couldn't be more seventies if it put on a leisure suit and dirty danced with John Travolta. A short, stocky woman with brown hair sat on the couch, a smoldering Chesterfield in one hand and a can of Budweiser in the other. She wore a sleeveless yellow blouse tucked into a pair of jeans, white high heels, and gaudy pink earrings. Above her, three velvet portraits hung upon the wall: Elvis, Jesus Christ, and Donald Trump.

Liam's Mee Maw.

When Liam was, like, five, his parents died and he came to live with his Mee Maw, a hard drinking, hard smoking farmer with calloused hands, thick forearm muscles, and a love for rockabilly and Americana.

She took a puff of her cigarette and suddenly thrust her fist into the air. "KICK HIS BUTT!"

Johnny followed her line of sight and -

Oh no.

OH NO.

She was watching…

...wrestling.

"She's a mark too?" he asked.

Liam tilted his head to one said. "A what?"

"A wrestling fan."

The befuddlement in his eyes disappeared. "Oh, yeah, she loves her 'rasslin'."

They were on the stairs now. Framed family photos, many of them black and white, looked down on them, their eyes seeming to track Johnny's every movement. On the second floor, shadows wrapped themselves around him and his step faltered. "Don't you have a light up here?" he asked.

"We don't need no light," Liam said dismissively, "I done lived in this house most my whole life. I know it like the back of my own hand."

Lincoln stumbled. "We don't."

At the end of the hall, a crack of light shone under a door. "Sid and Stella are already here," Liam said. "We was gettin' everything ready. This sleepover's gon' be a real barn burner."

Uh...was that a good thing? Usually when you use an analogy where something goes up in flames, it means bad things.

Liam opened the door.

Sid and Stella knelt in the middle of the floor, both in lounge pants and T-shirts. Between them was a...Johnny rubbed his eyes to make sure he was seeing this right...a pig. Both girls giggled and the pig let out a happy snort, its curly little tail wagging back and forth. "Lincoln and Johnny are here," Liam said.

The girls and the pig all looked up. Lipstick and eyeshadow covered the animal's face and its chin hair was rolled up in a single plastic curler. "Hey," Sid said.

"We were just giving Virginia a makeover," Stella said.

Johnny sighed. He _knew _this was going to be girly and dumb.

"Boy howdy," Liam said and put his hands on his hips, "she looks like a regular movie star. Don't she, Linc?"

"Sure does," Lincoln replied.

"Y'all can drop your bags over there." Liam nodded to the bed, where Sid and Stella's bags sat side by side.

Lincoln and Johnny went over, put their things down, and sat with Sid and Stella. Virginia the pig oinked and snorted as Stella painted its lips ruby red. "Hold still," she laughed.

"Y'all stay right here," Liam said, "I'm gon' get some refreshments."

He left, and Johnny turned to Sid, who was busy applying rouge to Virginia's cheeks. "I didn't know you guys were into makeup."

"We're not," Stella said, "as you can tell."

True. Virginia's face looked like a clown threw up on it; clearly the work of amateurs.

A few minutes later, Liam came back bearing a tray full of snacks and juice boxes. "I raided my Mee Maw's secret stash for the _good _stuff," Liam said. He sat the tray on the floor. "Pork rinds."

Virginia shot him a dirty look, and he flashed an anxious smile. "It's not really -"

Whipping its head away, the pig marched out of the room, its tail sticking straight up like a middle finger. Liam sighed dejectedly...then dropped to his butt and started shoving pork rinds into his mouth. "I've never had those," Sid said. "Are they good?"

"Laws yes," Liam said.

Sid took one, sniffed it, then nibbled it like Squidward proving to Spongebob that he didn't like Krabby Patties. "Hey," she said, "it is good."

Johnny had never had pork rinds but he was down for anything. It tasted kind of bland and the texture was garbage, but, hey, beggars can't be choosers. "Y'all wanna tell scary stories?" Liam asked. "I know a real scary one."

"Sure," Stella shrugged.

Sid hesitated. "Um...I don't know. I'm not really -"

"Chicken," Lincoln said and jabbed his finger at her.

Ha, payback's a witch, isn't it? "Yeah," Johnny jumped, "Sid's too chicken for scary stories."

The color drained from Sid's face and she jerked her head from side to side. "No I'm not. I just don't like bloody stuff. That's all."

"Oh, this ain't bloody," Liam said and waved his hands. "Johnny, get them there lights."

Getting up, Johnny flipped the lights off and took his place next to Lincoln while Liam clicked on a flashlight and held it under his chin, casting sinister shadows across his face. Sid scooted closer to Stella and Lincoln propped his chin in his upturned palm. Sid looked like she was going to poop herself and Liam hadn't even started. LOL. Who's the scaredy-cat now, Sid?

An idea struck him, and a shark-like grin spread across his lips.

This was going to be good.

"Once upon a time," Liam said, "my Mee Maw went to play poker with her friends and I was all by my lonesome. It was dark and stormy and the wind was blowin' somethin' fierce. We done lost power and I had to use my flashlight like I am now. I was layin' in my bed and readin' the tractor supply catalogue when I heard someone knockin' on the door. Knock. Knock. Knock.

Sid clutched the front of Stella's shirt. Stella was too transfixed to notice.

"So I got up and went to the door. I almost opened it but I heard this scratchin' and I stopped. I pressed my ear to the wood and listened. Under the wind, I heard someone whisperin'. _Liiiiam. Liiiiiiiaaaaaaam…_"

Shaking now, Sid chewed her fingernails.

"Well, I just about jumped out of my skin. I started to run away but the door burst open and -"

Liam's bedroom door flew open. Johnny's heart jumped into his throat and everyone screamed in terror.

The light came on and Liam's Mee Maw came in carrying a pizza box. "Y'all's food is here."

Johnny realized that he was hugging Lincoln fearfully to his chest, and shoved him away. Sid panted for air, chest rising and falling, and Stella's face was frozen in horror. Liam's Mee Maw dropped the box onto the bed, looked around, and put her hands on her hips. "What was y'all doin' in here with the lights off? Y'all ain't playin' doctor, is you?"

"We was telling scary stories," Liam said. "And you don scared the willies out of us."

The old woman chuckled. "Y'all gon' nightmares if you keep it up."

"We're not telling anymore," Sid said quickly. "Ever."

After Liam's Mee Maw was gone, Johnny grabbed a slice of pizza and took a big, hungry bite. "Watching Sid pee herself was the most fun I've had in months," he said.

"Right?" Lincoln asked. "And I'm pretty sure Stella pooed herself."

"Hey," Sid and Stella cried in unison. "We didn't do any of that stuff," Stella continued.

"Yeah," Sid added. "At least we didn't hug each other like little babies."

Getting to her knees, Stella turned around, hugged herself, and ran her hands up and down her back. "They weren't hugging, they were making out."

Liam laughed so hard a piece of pepperoni shot out of his nose. To make matters grosser, Virginia popped out of nowhere and scarfed it up.

"Ew," Sid said and stuck out her tongue.

"Don't eat that," Stella gasped, "it has boogers on it."

After dinner, Liam busted out his Nintendo 64 and Johnny's jaw dropped. "I haven't seen one of these since the sixties," he said. That wasn't exactly true. Dad had one hooked up in the attic and he and Sergio occasionally played old WCW and WWF games on it. He and Lincoln occasionally played it but the graphics were so primitive that it wasn't fun.

"Y'all 'bout to see a lot," Liam said. He jammed a cartridge in and 007 Goldeneye started. "I'm a beast at this game."

They played a four player deathmatch, Lincoln and Johnny vs Sid and Stella. Stella, to everyone's surprise, cleaned house...until Johnny got the Golden Gun, which kills in one hit. They ran through a maze of corridors looking for each other. The tension was high and Johnny's heart pounded. "Go! Go! Gp!" Lincoln chanted.

Johnny rounded a corner and came face to face with Stella. Lincoln screamed and Johnny jumped to his feet, mashing buttons and shaking the controller. He fired and Stella's character went down, dead as a doornail. Johnny jumped up and down in celebration and Stella fumed. "My turn," Sid said and plucked the controller from her hands.

No one who knew him - especially Lincoln - would say that Johnny was a merciful guy. He played to win and he _always _brought his A game. After killing Sid fifteen times in a row, however, he felt bad and let her kill him back. Have you ever seen that meme where the guy in third place is celebrating like he brought home the gold? That's what Sid did: She jumped up, thrusted her hips, and spiked the controller to the floor. "Boooyah! Who's your mama, loser? Who's your mama?"

"You are," Johnny said, already regretting his decision.

Following games, they watched a movie and then laid out their sleeping bags. "I got somethin' real fun in mind," Liam said, "we just gotta wait for Mee Maw to go to bed."

An hour later, after the house had been dark and silent for a while, they sneaked downstairs, being as quiet as possible, and went out the back door. Liam led them to the pasture behind the farm, where cows slept standing up. The cold air soaked into Johnny's bone marrow and his breath plumed before him like smoke. "This is a mighty good time," Liam said. He crept over to one of the cows...then shoved it. Its eyes flew open and it mooed as it toppled to the ground. Sid and Stella gaped. "That was mean!" Sid said.

"Yeah," Stella agreed, "but it _does_ look kind of fun."

There were fifteen cows in the field. Sid and Stella tipped most of them, running from one to the next and giggling like madwomen. Lincoln tipped one that almost fell onto Johnny, and Johnny stepped in a pile of cow dung and fell over. Why the time it was all said and done, fallen cows littered the pasture and everyone was sweaty, tired, and grimy.

Back inside, they washed off the best they could and slipped into their sleeping bags. Johnny's knees hurt from falling on the cold, hard ground and his lungs burned from running back and forth (it was a biiiiig field), but you know what? He had fun. Going into this, he thought sleepovers were lame and only for girls, but now he realized something: Sleepovers rule. He got to eat pizza, play video games, almost crap himself in fear, and knock over a bunch of cows. The cow part was especially cool.

"This was a great idea," he said.

Everyone agreed.

"Now y'all best get to sleep," Liam said, "we gotta be up at 4am to feed them chickens."

Johnny closed his eyes...then snapped them open again. Wait, did he say they had to be up at 4 in the freaking morning?

He did.

Sleepovers were fun and Johnny would definitely do more in the future, but never, ever, _ever _on a farm where you have to be up three hours before sunrise to feed animals and clean poop out of stalls.

The next time this happened, he decided, Liam was coming to _his _house.

THE END.


	29. The Flashback Episode

Lincoln lay back on his bed, crossed his legs, and drew a heavy sigh. Across the room, Johnny sat in front of the computer and stared at the blank screen, his shoulders slumped in dejection. Dad's braying sobs drifted up the stairs from the living room, and Sergio flew circles around the room, his face a perfect mask of boredom. Lincoln tried opening Facebook even though he knew what would happen; NO CONNECTION appeared on the screen, and he let out a frustrated "Uhhh."

It was Friday night and the internet was out. Along with everyone's phones. And the cable. If it wasn't the dead of winter, the electric company would have cut the power, but that was thankfully against the law.

"Stupid Dad," Johnny said.

Last week, forgetting that he was a grown adult in his forties, Dad blew his paycheck on a meet and greet with Crowbar, Daffney, and David Flair, three nobodies from WCW who weren't even relevant when they were on TV.

Twenty years ago.

Dad came home so amped he trembled like a small, excited dog. With him was a bunch of crap that no one cared about: Signed photos, a T-shirt, and a bunch of action figures of fourth string literal whos who wrestled a couple times on WCW Saturday Night, the WCW's bottom of the barrel fifth rate showcase of mediocrity. "I got to meet Dave Meltzer," he gushed, "and Bruce Mitchell, and Bryan Alvarez, and Wade Keller. It was so awesome. I squeed!"

"Cool, Dad," Lincoln and Johnny had said in unison. They learned over the years to just humor the old man until he went away.

Normally, Dad was _somewhat _responsible with his spending, but not this time around. Oh no. He peed away most of the bill money and because of it, everything was shut off. Lincoln and Johnny had been staring at the walls and twiddling their thumbs for three days straight, and Dad sat in front of the TV crying because he couldn't watch crappy old wrestling shows on the WWE Network. Oh boo hoo, fat boy, this is _your _fault.

Even now, Lincoln could hear his father's soft weeping from the living room. "Oh, shut up, Jason," Mom snapped, "this is your fault."

Ha, nice one, Mom.

"I'm so sorry," Dad wept.

"From now you, I want your check deposited directly into my account."

Dad cried even harder because he knew what that meant: No more making it rain on dumb stuff behind Mom's back, no more sneaking Big Macs on the way home from work, no more stopping at random tag sales and coming home with garbage, no more anything.

About time she put her foot down.

"I hope he suffers," Johnny said and sat back in his chair. His hands jittered and his face was drawn and pale, lending him the appearance of a zombie freshly risen from the grave. Everyone was hard hit by the loss of their phones, internet, TV, etc, but no one more so than Johnny. He'd been going through withdrawals for days: That morning, Lincoln found him curled up on the floor, shaking and crying, and the night before, Johnny picked at his skin and rocked back and forth while mumbling incoherently to himself. The last time Lincoln saw someone feen that bad, it was in one of those health class PSAs about heroin. Johnny wasn't puking and screaming in agony, but that would probably come soon if he didn't get 10ccs of cat videos stat.

"He is," Lincoln said. He opened the calculator app and punched in random numbers. Since he lost service, he had gone between one random app and another to keep himself entertained. There wasn't much, though; everything required the internet. YouTube, Facebook, Twitter, Prime, even all the games he'd downloaded. Like seriously, none of this stuff can run without the web? Why? How dumb. The X-Station did the same thing. You had to be hooked up to the internet to play it. That made absolutely no sense whatsoever. Back in the old days, you could just put a game in and go, but now you needed to have an account, a credit card, an internet connection, a perfect credit score, and a full time job just to get in the door.

Sighing, Johnny flopped his head forward and issued a watery sigh. "Not as much as I am."

"I MISS HULK HOGAN SO MUCH," Dad wailed.

Had this happened in the summer, it wouldn't have been so bad; Lincoln and Johnny could have gone camping for a few days. Being in the great outdoors, surrounded by trees and rocks and bugs, not being constantly linked to the digital hivemind was manageable. Out there, it was _right_. You know the saying: When in Rome, do as the Romans.

Only this _wasn't _the middle of summer. It was the dead of winter. Dirty snowdrifts leftover from last month's storm dotted the world like big, pus-filled whiteheads and the icy wind lashed the earth like Indiana Jones' bullwhip only much, much, _much _colder. Going outside even to get in the car was hard; there was no way they'd survive a single night out there. They'd wind up looking like Jack Nicholson at the end of _The Shining_. No _thank _you.

Getting to his feet, head hung and shoulders stooped, Johnny shuffled over to his bed and dropped on. "You can always read a book," Lincoln suggested.

Johnny grimaced. "I'd rather read the shampoo label."

"Then go do it," Lincoln said.

"I have," Johnny moaned, "three times."

Lincoln hummed.

Honestly, he didn't know what to say. He was having a hard enough time trying to keep himself entertained. He clicked on his contacts list and scrolled through, looking for old numbers to delete. Each one had a picture next to it. Dad wearing a chainmail head covering and sunglasses ala Scott Stiener; Mom smiling and looking tired because she chose to marry a mark who cosplayed as other people; and, all in a row, Stella, Sid, and Liam, the first smiling, the second waving, and Liam holding his pet pig Virginia like a proud poppa with his newborn child. Virginia was much bigger than an infant, but that was still the first thing that came to Lincoln's mind. Lincoln lingered over the faces of his friends, his mind beginning to work and warm fuzzies flooded his chest.

"You remember how we met Stella?" he asked.

In his bed, Johnny laced his hands behind his head and crossed his legs. "Yeah," he said. "I sure do."

_Cue flashback sequence_.

"Okay, class," Mrs. Harribaulm said and clapped her hands, "we have a new student joining us. Everyone, please welcome Stella."

Lincoln and Johnny sat in the back of the room like the cool rebels they were, Lincoln with his sunglasses on and Johnny impatiently drumming his fingers on the desk. It was early May and warm outside; Lincoln wore black tank top that bared his scrawny white arms and Johnny wore a black T-shirt with the Punisher skull on the chest. They looked like they were going to steal your crush and drink all your apple juice, and that was _exactly _the kind of thing they were into.

The door opened and a freakishly tall Asian girl walked in. Really, she looked like Godzilla rampaging through downtown Tokyo.

A deep hush fell over the class and everyone gaped, even Mrs. Harribaulm. The girl stood in front of the blackboard, cupped her elbow with one hand, and looked shyly down at the floor. "Uh, hi," she said, "my name is Stella and I just moved here from Manilla...Massachusetts. I like reading, video games, and drawing."

Her tone was practiced and automatic, as though she had introduced herself to a new class a million times before.

She took an open seat and a wave of whispers swept the room. _She's so tall; wow, what a freak; they must grow 'em real big in Massachusetts_. That last one was Liam, who really had no right to say anything about anyone...not with a hick accent as thick as his.

"Check out the new girl," Johnny said and chewed on a toothpick.

"She's tall," Lincoln said.

"Yes," Johnny replied, Chad-like.

And that was the end of it.

The other kids in class, being far less cool and mature, didn't let it go. Over the next few days, a lot of them gave Stella funny looks, a few even teased her for being so tall. She took it all gamely enough, as though she were used to it, and kept her chin up. She ate her lunch at the same table every day, surrounded by nothing and no one. Lincoln and Johnny observed her, and one day, Lincoln said, "We should hang with her."

"Okay," Johnny said.

They wouldn't admit it out loud but they knew all too well how it felt to be ignored, outcasted, and made fun of by literally everyone.

It was not a good feeling at all.

They got up and went ovr, Lincoln sitting on one side of her and Johnny the other. She looked nervously from one to the other, her shoulders tensing like she expected them to attack her for her lunch money, or worse...make fun of her height.

"'Sup?" Lincoln asked.

"Yo," Johnny said, "we're the Velazquest brothers. We're kind of a big deal around here."

"Coolest kids in school," Lincoln said casually.

"Uhhh, hi," Stella said guardedly, "I'm Stella."

"We know," Johnny said. "We've been watching you."

Stella squinted one eye. "Uh...okay, that's not creepy."

"We think you're cool enough to join our club," Lincoln said.

Johnny plucked his toothpick from his mouth and pointed it at her, making her flinch. "Don't worry about what those losers say."

A genuine smile spread across Stella's face. "Oh, don't worry, I'm not. My dad's a contractor with the government and we move around a lot, so I'm totally used to it. Once people have time to -"

"I mean, yeah, you look Yao Ming in drag, but that's fine," Lincoln said.

Stella blinked.

"People are ignorant," Johnny opined, "once they get to know you, they'll realize there's more to you than your comical height."

She opened her mouth, but Lincoln cut her off. "And those clown feet. It doesn't matter to us that you literally tower over everyone in school."

"And stick out like a sore thumb," Johnny added.

"We get that you're totally isolated from your classmates because you're higher than Afroman, but that's okay."

Neither one noticed Stella's bottom lip beginning to quiver.

"We accept you for the willowy, gangly, awkward, stick-legged giant you are," Johnny said.

Tears filled Stella's eyes.

"I'm sure you'll manage to find _some _way to live a normal life," Lincoln mused. "You just have to find another one of your kind."

Johnny bent over to examine her legs. "Do these things go boing when you walk?"

"I was wondering the same thing," Lincoln said. "She legit looks like she's about to take Pearl to prom."

Leaping to her feet, Stella buried her face in her hands and bounded away, her sobs trailing over her shoulder. Lincoln and Johnny both missed a beat, then looked at each other. "Dude," Johnny said, "look what you did."

"Me?" Lincoln asked, hand fluttering to his chest. "It was you and your dumb paper bag. I wanna cry too after looking at it all day."

Growling, Johnny sprang at him and they fell to the floor.

"NERD FIGHT!" someone yelled.

Lincoln and Johnny rolled back and forth across the floor, crushing discarded bits of food beneath their bodies. Lincoln slapped Johnny's face and Johnny whacked Lincoln over the head. "I'm gonna Fulci your butt," he hissed through his teeth.

That meant he was going to gouge Lincoln's eye out.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!" Lincoln wailed.

Thankfully, Mr. Peterpuffer, the biology teacher, came over and pulled Johnny off. ""I should have known it was you two again," he said. Grabbing both boys by their ears, he hauled them to the principal's office.

The next day, they sat with Stella at lunch again. She froze when she saw them. "Are you here to make fun of me again?" she asked tightly.

"No," Lincoln sighed.

"Look," Johnny said, "we're really sorry. We're, uh, we're not exactly, you know, good with people.'

"Truth is," Lincoln said, "we used to get picked on too."

Johnny nodded. "Hard."

"And we don't really know how to…"

"Talk to people and stuff," Johnny finished.

Stella regarded them suspiciously, then, seeing that they were being honest, she relaxed. "It's okay. I...guess I was a little too sensitive yesterday. It is, you know…" she leaned conspiratorially in, "_that time of the month_."

Both Lincoln and Johnny nodded that they understood. "The end of the month always makes me sad too."

"Actually," Stella said, "it's...nevermind."

_End flashback._

Lincoln and Johnny laughed. "Yeah, we were such idiots," Johnny said fondly.

"We tried to make her feel better about herself, but we only made her feel worse," Lincoln said with a chuckle.

"Speaking of feeling bad," Lincoln said, "do you remember how we met Sid?"

Johnny rolled his eyes. "Do I ever." He rolled up his shirt sleeve to reveal a long, jagged scar on his forearm. "And I have the battle wounds to prove it."

_Cue another flashback scene_.

Lincoln and Johnny walked down the sidewalk running along Argento Street, Lincoln in jeans and a tank top and Johnny in nothing but a pair of sweat soaked basketball shorts. It was the middle of summer and the sun pounded the earth with intense heat. It was so hot that the pavement shimmered and so dry that everything had turned a sickly brown color. Not a breath of wind stirred and most of Royal Woods' residents had retreated indoors, leaving the town eerily deserted.

The week before, Dad blew his paycheck on a bunch of AEW merch he randomly found at Hot Topic (what he was doing in Hot Topic in the first place, Lincoln would never know). The power got shut off, meaning they didn't have air conditioning (but at least they had Orange Cassidy throw pillows). During the day, it got to, like, 200 degrees in the house, so Lincoln and Johnny spent as much time outdoors as they could. They were on their way to Flip's for a couple frosty Flipeez and were just passing the skate park when something shot over the stone wall separating it from the street. Lincoln and Johnny both came to a halt and watched as a girl on a skateboard sailed over the street and landed on the opposite sidewalk. She jumped off, kicked the board, and caught it in one fluid motion.

Lincoln and Johnny looked at each other. "Whoa."

That was the coolest thing either of them had ever seen.

They rushed across the street. "That was sick," Lincoln said.

"Temperature of 103," Lincoln added.

"Thanks," the girl said. She unclasped her helmet and took it off. "My name's Sid. What's yours?"

"I'm Lincoln," Lincoln said, "and this is Johnny."

"We might not look like it, but we're brothers," Johnny said.

Sid was a self-described daredevil who "lived for the rush." She claimed to have gotten the blueprint for her philosophy from that episode of Spongebob where Spongebob and Patrick try to live like Larry. "I realized I was just like them," she explained. They were sitting at one of the concrete picnic tables outside Karl's Ice Cream and eating soft serve with sprinkles. "A little baby couch potato who was too scared to take risks. I decided to heck with that and got my head in the game." For her, _the game _was tempting fate and risking injury.

Maybe Lincoln and Johnny were still awkward from their days of not having friends, but when they met someone as cool as Sid, they wanted to impress them. "We're daredevils too," Lincoln said.

"Yeah," Johnny put in, "we're planning a sick stunt."

Sid's face lit up. "Cool. What is it?"

Lincoln and Johnny looked at each other. "Yeah," Lincoln said with a fake smile, "what is it?"

"I don't know, bro," Johnny said through a smile that was just as forced, "it was your idea. Remember?"

Darn it. Now Lincoln had to come up with something cool. He looked around for help and that's when he saw it in the distance, rising majestically over the town like a proud and stately ocean liner o'er her berth.

Royal Woods Hill, the third highest point in Royal Country after Mount Chiliad and the top of Stella's head. Next, his eyes went to a discarded shopping cart sitting next to a STOP sign. Two wires in his brain touched and produced a spark. Before he even knew he was going to speak, he blurted: "We're going to ride a shopping cart down Royal Woods Hill."

Johnny, eyes closed, said, "Yeah, we're going to -"

His lids flew open and he whipped his head around to Lincoln. "We're gonna what? Dude, no, we -"

Sid slammed his ice cream to the ground and jumped onto the table like a monkey going nuts at the zoo. "THAT'S SO COOL!"

And that is how Lincoln and Johnny wound up screaming down Royal Woods Hill in a shopping cart. The highway unfurled before them like a red carpet to hell before crossing the Royal River over an old trestle bridge and the wind filled their lungs like canvas sails, making breathing impossible. Johnny clutched the sides of the cart in a white-knuckled and howled at the top of his lungs, and Lincoln clung to the front of his brother's jacket, tears streaming down his cheeks. "This was such a bad idea!" he wailed.

"I KNOW!" Johnny screamed.

Sid pulled up beside them on her bike. "You guys better slow down!"

"WE DON'T HAVE BRAKES!" Lincoln yelled.

SId blinked. "Oh."

The road straightened out and the cart began to wobble. It veered across both lanes, narrowly missed an oncoming pick-up, and slammed into the bridge's metal exoskeleton. Lincoln and Johnny were thrown out of the cart and flew over the side of the bridge. Below them, the land sloped down to the shallow river.

Lincoln flapped his arms but instead of flying off to safety, he and Johnny both fell to the sharp, jagged rocks below.

_End flashback._

Lincoln and Johnny laughed. "I thought we'd be in traction forever."

"That was the single scariest moment of my life," Lincoln said, remembering the rocky river bed coming closer and closer.

Johnny opened his mouth to agree, but stopped. "Actually, the day we met Liam was pretty scary too."

Oh, right. Lincoln almost forgot about that. "You really think it was as scary as falling thirty feet onto a bunch of rocks?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"I remember you screaming and crying."

Lincoln's brow furrowed. "I didn't scream and cry."

"Yes you did," Johnny said with a wicked grin.

_Cue one more flashback._

Lincoln and Johnny were hanging out at town square, a literal square of grass, trees, and flowers situated in front of the Royal County Courthouse. A statue of Royal Woods' founder, Sir. Jonathan Woods, cast a long shadow across the commons and water chugged and sloshed in a stone fountain.

It was late summer and school was starting in less than a week. Lincoln and Johnny had resolved to make the most of what remained of their summer vacation, but, honestly, there was nothing to do. They had just gotten out of the hospital after their disastrous meeting with Sid and they were a little leery of overexerting themselves.

Johnny watched cat videos on his phone and Lincoln people watched, flipping down his sunglasses when a cute girl passed. "Hey, mama," he called to a redhead twice his age.

"Get lost, creep," she snapped.

When she was gone, Lincoln sat back and smugly crossed his arms. "She wants me."

"No she doesn't," Johnny said, "no girl wants you."

Lincoln's face darkened and he cocked his fist to punch Johnny in his dumb arm but stopped when a cry rang through the back. Lincoln and Johnny looked at each other, then sprang into action. They followed the sounds until they found the source behind a stand of trees. A redheaded boy with a bowl cut and buck teeth was surrounded by eighth grade boys. "Where's your pig, pig lover?" one of them asked.

Another shoved the boy and he almost fell.

If there was one thing Lincoln and Johnny both hated, it was bullies. "Hey," Johnny said and assumed a fighter's stance. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

"Yeah," Lincoln said and did the same.

The boys turned to them and seemed to think twice; Johnny and Lincoln were both small but they were wiry and intimidating nevertheless.

Lincoln jumped at the boys and kicked one in the shin, and Johnny caught another with a sick haymaker. The others scattered and Johnny stood victorious over his fallen foe. Shaking, the boy started to scream. "DAAAAAAAAAAAAD!"

"Ha," Johnny laughed, "crying for your daddy, huh? Well, he can't help you now?"

When a deep voice echoed through the park, Johnny and Lincoln's blood froze. "I'm coming, son."

A moment later, a gang of bikers built like German bunkers came into the clearing. They were big, they were mean, and they each carried a weapon: Steel pipes, switchblades, eve 4. "He's gonna beat me up, Daddy, help!"

The head biker looked at Johnny, and Johnny uttered a nervous laugh.

And that's how Lincoln, Johnny, and Liam wound up running down the middle of Main Street from a gang of murderous bikers. "I know a shortcut!" Liam shouted in that thick Dukes of Hazzard accent. He ducked into an alley and Lincoln and Johnny followed. At the end, they came to a wooden fence with a hole at the bottom just big enough for them to squeeze through one at a time. On the other side, they got to their feet and ran to the end of the alley. "There," Liam said, "that should keep them off our -"

The head biker exploded through the fence in a shower of splinters and his buddies came behind like the offensive line of a football team that grew 'em _big_. Liam, Johnny, and Lincoln screamed and fell all over themselves to get away. Lincoln shoved Johnny, vaguely hoping to trip him and thus by himself time to escape, and Liam threw his elbow into Lincoln's guts, knocking the air from his lungs. Liam, smaller and faster, pulled away like a tiny sports car outpacing two lumbering SUVs, and Lincoln followed his lead because what _else _could he do? Liam angled across the street, ducked between two parked cars, and blazed down the sidewalk, weaving in and out of pedestrians with a lithe grace that Lincoln would have stopped to admire under other circumstances. Johnny, a real klutz even at the best of times but especially when he was running from a herd of killer bikers, bumped into one of the cars, and an alarm squawked like Sergio on waking from a pigeon related nightmare.

Lincoln assumed that the bikers would lay off, considering there were tons of witnesses around, but he sorely underestimated their determination to the cause of catching and pummeling little boys. When he spared a quick glance over his shoulder, he was mortified to see the head biker only a scant few steps back, his teeth gritted and his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. His handlebar mustache (because what other kind of facial hair would a Big Scary Biker have?) rippled like a caterpillar on speed and his teeth looked sharp enough to crack bone.

Ahhhhh, leave me alone!

Ahead, Liam ducked into an open door and Johnny and Lincoln followed. Pottery on shelves, metal racks crammed with a confusion of clothes, castoff crap in every corner and stacked onto every surface, little old ladies browsing cookery and knick knacks at the speed of social security. Thrift store. Mom loved these places, dragged Lincoln and Johnny to them every blue chance she got.

Liam darted between the racks like Moses fleeing across the Red Sea and it was all the brothers Velazquest could do to keep up. Behind them, the crash and clatter of breaking breakables told them that the bikers were hot on their trail. "My word!" an old woman cried in alarm.

"Now see here!" a man yelled.

Through an open doorway and down a set of steps. They were in the back down, second hand items all around. A roll-top door was open a foot, maybe two. Liam scurried under, Johnny rolled. Lincoln stopped and looked behind him just as the head biker appeared at the head of the stairs. Panicking, Lincoln hit a random red button, and the door started to close. He crawled out and cleared the door just as it met the concrete with a clang of finality. He got to his feet and looked around. Alleyway. Dank. Trash cans and back doors leading into buildings on either side. He caught a flash of Johnny's dreads as he disappeared around a corner, and went after him.

A maze of warrens, secret courtyards where bums lived and the sunlight barely reached, and slime slathered corridors rank with mold and scum brought them to River Road. Though his lungs burned and a hot stitch flared in his side, Lincoln didn't dare slow.

They ran south on River Road until they were outside town, the shops, restaurants, and houses comprising downtown Royal Woods screened behind a thick layer of trees at their backs. They finally stopped at a slanted mailbox at the end of a long dirt driveway leading up to a white farmhouse. Tall, brown grass waved in the furnace blast wind and the rusted strands of a barbed wire fence twanged like guitar strings. On either side of the driveway, cows munched on grass and swished their tails back and forth, and closer to the house, chickens chased each other back and forth, wings flapping and their little claws kicking up tiny puffs of dust.

Liam bent at the waist, clasped his hands to his knees, and sucked deep gulps of air, his back rising and falling like the ebb and flow of a violent tide. Johnny stumbled, sank to his knees, and gasped like a suffocating astronaut dying on an alien planet, and Lincoln threw his head back. His lungs ached, his side ached, his legs ached, and his entire body was thickly coated with sweat. His head spun and for a terrible moment, he thought he was going to puke all over his shoes. Liam, half way composed, sat down next to the mailbox and ran his hand through his damp hair. His face was a dangerous shade of fire engine red and his shirt was soaked through like he just climbed out of a swimming pool.

Giving up the ghost, Johnny toppled over and lay still, his knees drawing to his chest as his body contracted like a dying bug. Lincoln hobbled over to his fallen brother, dropped to his knees, and shook him. "Speak to me, kid" he asked. "Say a few syllables."

"Is my paper bag okay?" Johnny croaked.

"No," Lincoln said, "I think you lost it back on Main Street."

Squeezing his eyes closed, Johnny began to cry.

Dude.

Really?

What are you, a girl?

"There, there," Lincoln said and gave his brother's shoulder a stiff pat, "we'll get you a new one."

"We had so many good times together," Johnny mourned, his voice breaking.

"Just be glad we got away," Lincoln said and got back to his feet. He stuck out his hand, but Johnny waved him off.

"Not now, Linc, can't you see I'm wallowing?"

Oh boy. Lincoln loved his bro like, well, a brother, but the guy was the biggest drama queen on the face of the earth. No, seriously, he was the only person Lincoln knew who'd break down over a paper bag. It's not like it was some expensive hat with great sentimental value or anything. His dying grandmother didn't entrust it to him on her deathbed, he didn't pay a fortune for it - he got it for free from the grocery store. He'd wear it for a few days, then, once it was sweaty, ripped, or otherwise compromised, he'd toss it out and put on a new one. This was a cycle that had been repeating itself week after week after week since the fourth grade.

Too long, didn't read: Dude's a baby.

Leaving Johnny to grieve over his dearly departed headgear, Lincoln walked over to Liam and stood over him, his hands going sternly to his hips and his brow angling down in an angry V. Everyone said he looked just like his mother and he couldn't deny it even though he sometimes wanted to; in that moment, he was identical to her.

He had half a mind to tear this little butthole limb for limb and then poop down his neck. "Hey, kid, you almost got us killed."

"Mighty sorry 'bout that," Liam said. "And I thank you kindly for stickin' up for me. Ain't no one ever done that before."

That assuaged a _little _of Lincoln's righteous fury. He and Johnny liked to think of themselves as protectors of the innocent and defenders of the weak, and knowing that they did just that, well...maybe it was worth nearly being turned into mincemeat by some adult men. How could he stay mad at Liam? He said no one had ever stuck up for him before. Lincoln understood that feeling well. Very well. More well than he cared to admit. When he and Johnny were the punchline of the school and being roasted by literally everyone, even the principal, no one stood up for them, no one at all. They were reviled and picked on by everyone.

And if people weren't absolutely clowning on them like MJF and Jericho clowning on a steak dinner, they treated them like criminals because of their many - and admittedly crazy - get rich quick schemes. They called Lincoln and Johnny conmen, grifters, thieves, tramps, gypsies, and all other manner of awful things. They were alone, alienated, and...long story short, they felt like crud.

One day long ago, Lincoln and Johnny swore to each other that they would never make anyone else feel like that and that they would always be a friend to the friendless. They even pinkie promised, that's how deadly serious they were.

Lincoln couldn't say Liam was particularly friendless - he'd never seen the kid before in his life - but he certainly didn't have any friends back there at the park.

Sighing, Lincoln asked Liam's name. "What school do you go to?"

"I'm homeschooled," Liam said. "My Mee Maw doesn't believe in public schools. She says they's all run by liberals."

Now Lincoln, Johnny, and Liam were sitting together, Johnny with one knee belt to his chest and his back against the weathered post holding the mailbox up. "I reckon I might go to the public school this year on account of the government sayin' you can't homeschool people if you ain't got more 'n' a fifth grade education but I can't rightly say."

"I'm Lincoln and this is Johnny," Lincoln said. "Where do you live?"

"Right here," Liam said and jutted his chin toward the farm house.

Johnny sat up straight. "Dude, you live on a farm?"

There was a hint of wonder in his voice.

"Well, yeah, I live on a farm."

"I've never been to a farm," Johnny said.

"Ain't never been to a farm?" Liam asked incredulously.

"We're suburban boys," Lincoln said.

"Can you give us a tour?" Johnny asked. "I wanna see."

Liam mulled it over for a second. "Well, I reckon it's okay."

That afternoon, Liam showed them around his farm, starting in the pasture ("watch for cow patties, y'all") and ending in the kitchen, where his Mee Maw sat at the table and smoked like a freight train. "This here is Lincoln and Johnny. They're my new friends. They ain't never been to a farm before."

"It's mighty fine to meet you," Liam's Mee Maw said. "You boys hungry?"

Liam, Johnny, and Lincoln ate cold fried chicken and drank glass after glass of fresh squeezed lemonade. Neither Lincoln nor Johnny had ever had anything so good in their entire lives.

At the end of the day, they walked home through the twilit town. "You know, I like that kid," Johnny said.

"Yeah, me too."

And that is how Lincoln and Johnny became friends with Liam.

_End flashback._

Lincoln and Johnny were both laughing over the shared memory of how they met their three best friends. Laughing led to reminiscing, and soon they began to trade favorite memories back and forth like kids with baseball cards.

They weren't bored anymore, and, truth be told, they appreciated Sid, Stella, and Liam a little more now.

THE END.


	30. Battle Botz

Johnny Velazquest liked to roast his Dad for liking wrestling. He liked to roast wrestling itself. He liked, come to think of it, absolutely crapping on everything that wrestling was and stood for. Why?

Because it's fake.

And don't even give him that line about the athletics being real. His father already had. "Those boys work hard to keep in shape then they go and work a match that looks entirely real. You know how hard that is? You need to show some respect, you little punk."

Look, Johnny got it. Guys put in a lot of real work and suffered real injuries, and yes, it was _kind _of impressive that they could work together in the ring and make it look like they were fighting. Johnny grudgingly respected that. Still, it was all fake. The trash talking, the fighting, the riverlries. Wrestling was scripted acrobatics that, at one time, promoters pushed as real. You can romanticize the business and its traditions all you want (like that Jim Cornette butthole Dad loves so much), but at the end of the day, wrestling was a sham that its promoters passed off as a legitimate athletic competition in order to part fools from their money. No two ways about it.

THAT was Johnny's major gripe about wrestling. He wasn't against REAL combat sports, though. In fact, boxing and MMA were the shiznit. He'd occasionally watch UFC matches on his phone, and sometimes he got so into it that he pumped his fist and cheered just as loud as Dad when Kane and the Undertaker were on. Fighting was cool when it was actually, you know, real.

During one of Johnny's many januts across cyberspace, he came across a show from the early 2000s called Battlebots. For some reason, it ran on Comedy Central in-between The Man Show and reruns of South Park even though it was anything _but _comedy.

Basically, people built their own robots and made them fight in a steel cage. Now, they weren't, like, full blown humanoid robots, but little Roomba sized things with saws, flamethrowers, and spikes galore. It was sooo cool. Johnny binged the entire series in two days, drinking Monster after Monster and refusing to sleep and postone one second of awesomeness. The next day, he excitedly told his lunch crew about it, acting out an epic battle between two bots. Sid leaned forward and listened, enraptured in his tale of mechanized violence. "That was really on TV? Really?"

A frenzied gleam crept into her eyes and her brows raised higher than Big Boss Man that time Undertaker lynched him. In addition to her love defying death, she was _way _into robotics.

"It totally was," Johnny said.

"That's so cool," she marveled. "We should build robots and make them fight."

Thus, Robot Battle Group was born. For the first couple weeks, it consisted solely of Johnny, Lincoln, Stella, and Sid - it was harvest season and Liam's Mee Maw needed him at the farm to harvest stuff, so he wasn't around at first. Every day after school, the four of them gathered in Lincoln and Johnny's garage. They built their first bot in four weeks using parts from a chainsaw and a remote control car. Sid and Stella, who had always been interested in the inner working of machines, handled the bot part while Johnny and Lincoln focused mainly on the "battle" aspects. The chainsaw blade (wrapped in barbed wire because barbed wire is cool) served as the robot's primary weapon. Lincoln added a cannon that shot bursts of nails and thumb tacks and Johnny modified the chainsaw to give it a better range of movement. "That way it can slice and dice," he said proudly.

Finally, in late October, they had their bot. It was kind of small and pretty slow, but it was the most beautiful thing Johnny had ever seen. They took it out back and tested it on empty milk jugs. The blade didn't cut very deeply, but pushing the big red button and spraying nails everywhere was pretty awesome.

Having their very own battlebot was cool and all, but they didn't have an opponent. If they wanted to have a sick brawl for all like the one that ended Dr. Death's WWF push (and Bart Gunn's WWF career), they needed another battlebot.

So back to the ol' grind they went. By this time, Liam was done shucking corn and pulling radishes from the ground so he joined in. Luckily for RBG, living on a farm and working on tractors and machines that were older than the dirt they processed gave Liam a lot of practical knowledge from hands on experience and obscure troubleshooting abilities that relative novices like Sid and Stella could only learn after many years on the job. He retooled the first bot so that the saw worked better, and moved the barbed wire to the tires, thus making it harder for them to be penetrated.

The second bot was largely Liam and Stella's creation. Using a Roomba as their foundation, they added a mechanical arm that ended in a comically oversized hammer and stuck spikes around the edges so that anything that got too close to it would be impaled. That, Liam explained, was so that the enemy bot would get caught on the spikes and be unable to get away, giving the hammer time to do its job. "I think barbed wire would work better for that," Johnny said.

Lincoln rolled his eyes. "That's your answer for everything. Barbed wire."

Yeah, it was, so?

"Actually, I reckon he's right," Liam said. "The point is to get the other guy's doohickey all caught up so mine can work it over with the hammer."

"Fly paper," Sid said.

When their bot was done, it was encased in a sphere of barbed wire that had been coated with a mixture of glue, tar, and melted rubber. It was so sticky that, in theory, any bot unlucky enough to touch it would become hopelessly stuck. For that reason, Liam called it "The Spydr." (The spelling was Lincoln's idea but Johnny took credit for it since it was actually pretty cool. Thanks, Linc. Johnny dubbed the other one "Leatherface" after the guy from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. On November 5, with crusty patches of the season's first snowfall clinging to the ground, Lincoln, Johnny, and Liam built a makeshift ring in the backyard while Sid and Stella gave both of the bots a final pre flight check. They used garden hoses and ratchet straps for the ropes and castoff bicycles seats as turnbuckles, and when they were done, Johnny inspected it for safety. It wasn't what he would call "ready for primetime" but it's not like people were going to be in there, just robots.

He turned and started.

Dad, dressed in a puffy jacket, ear muffs, and a knit cap sat in an armchair with a bucket of popcorn and a tall glass of Coca-Cola. "What are you doing?" Johnny asked.

"I'm a simple man," Dad replied, "when there's wrestling, I watch it."

Okay, that ticked Johnny right off. "This isn't wrestling, Dad," he said, "this isn't a work, this isn't a bunch of fake fighting carny BS put on by an unscrupiloys carnival barker looking to swindle people for their money. This is _real_. This is RBG: Tuesday Afternoon. This isn't All Petite Wrestling or Raw is Bore. If you want to watch a bunch of guys working you, go download Capitol Combat. I hear the _real _Robocop showed up. For real."

For a moment, Dad just gaped at him...this his face screwed up in a mask of misery. Beginning to sob, he jumped up, knocking his chair over, and ran inside. "Elizabeth!" he wept. "Johnny cut a mean promo on wrestling again!"

Through the kitchen window, Johnny saw his mother hug his father to her chest and try to sooth him. She shot daggers at Johnny, and Johnny flashed a nervous smile. Sorry, Mom. He had it coming.

Just then, Stella, Lincoln, Liam, and Sid brought out Spydr and Leatherface. "Let's get this party started," Sid said.

They put the bots into the ring. "Who gets to control them?" Sid asked.

"I get one," Stella said.

"So do I," Liam said.

Lincoln held up his hand. "Excuse me, but this is my backyard."

Johnny shoved him. "It was my backyard first."

Flashing, Lincoln shoved him back. Before Johnny could lunge and tear his freaking head off, Sid got between them. "Knock it off, guys," she said, "let's be civilized about this."

"That's not how we do things around here," Johnny said and rolled up his sleeves, "in my hood, we -"

Suddenly, Johnny's neck prickled with the eerie sensation of being watched. He glanced over his shoulder, and Dad's face was pressed insistently against the kitchen window, cheeks puffed out and breath fogging the glass.

He was waiting for Lincoln and Johnny to throw down.

No.

Johnny refused to give his old man the squash match he so obviously wanted. "Fine," he said.

Instead of beating each other up, the five of them drew straws, with the two longest ones getting the honor of piloting one of the bots. The winners wound up being Liam and Stella, which hurt Johnny's butt and filled him with salt.

Smiling all over themselves, Liam and Stella took their places by the ring and the fight commenced. Leatherface hit Spydr with his saw, but instantly got stuck. "Got'cha," Liam said. He mashed a big red button and Spydr battered 'Face with its hammer. Stella shook her remote control and mashed all of the buttons in mindless panic. "Noooo!" she cried. "Get off of me!"

Liam let out a laugh that sounded suspiciously like Goofy ("H-yuck!"). "You done fell in my trap, girl."

After what seemed like an eternity, Stella managed to get her bot free from the grasp of Liam's. It was battered and leaking oil but still in good enough shape to hit Spydr with the saw, the marriage of blade and barbed wire kicking up a shower of sparks and producing a tortured scream of metal on metal. Lincoln cheered for Liam, so as a frick you, Johnny cheered for Stella. Sid just cheered for destruction. "Yeah, cut him up! Beat her with the hammer again! *Punches the air* "Use your nail cannon!"

In the end, Stella won by TKQ: Liam backed into one of the turnbuckles, got stuck, and couldn't move. The saw cut through the barbed wire and reached the mechanical arm, severing the wires that controlled it and rendering it useless. "That was sick," Sid gushed. Her hands were clenched into excited fists and her body trembled like a high tension wire. "We gotta build more bots and have more battles, bigger battles, _bloodier _battles."

She heaved for air, chest rising and falling.

"Whoa, calm down there, Colonel Cochran."

Sid relaxed and favored him with a quizzical expression. "Who's that?"

"The dude from Halloween III: Season of the Witch."

Lincoln furrowed his brow. "You mean Conal Cochran?"

Say what? Was this dude tripping? "It was Colonel Cochran."

"Bro, his first name was Conal."

"You need to get that snowy white hair out of your ears so you can hear right. It was Colonel. Like the chicken guy."

Lincoln cocked his fist to knock some sense into his brother, but stopped. Dad was in the window again, watching, waiting, just hoping for a glimpse of phony fighting. "Whatever, it's not important. Sid's right, we gotta build more bots."

"What did this Cochran guy do?" Sid asked, confused.

"Nothing," Lincoln said, "don't listen to him, he's dumb."

They set out to draw up plans for four new bots.

It just so happened that, days later, open enrollment for after school clubs started. Johnny already took a cooking class on Tuesdays and Thursdays and wasn't interested in joining another one, but one of the posters plastered to the cafeteria wall caught his eye. In tiny print it said: START YOUR OWN CLUB.

An idea struck him like a big boot to the face and he hurried over to the table where Lincoln, Liam, Stella, and Sid waited.

"You really think we should make it an actual club?" Sid asked.

"Sure," Johnny said, "we'll get credit for doing something we love. It's a no brainer."

"So easy a wrestler could do it," Lincoln said.

Across town, Dad shuddered, as if there was a disturbance in the force. He whipped out his official Hulk Hogan pacifier and shoved it into his mouth to soothe himself.

At the end of the day. Lincoln and Johnny went to the office and filled out a bunch of paperwork to incorporate their club, Robot Battle Group. They would meet Mondays, Wendedays, and Fridays in the shop room. They would have full use of the gym on Friday nights when it was not being used for basketball games and would be given a budget of fifty dollars a month for supplies. Neither one said anything to the other, but the same basic plan occurred to both of them. They already got their supplies - metal, wires, implements of destruction - from various places free of charge. If they continued doing that, they could pocket the money and split if fifty-fifty, adding another revenue stream to their network of income sources.

The first meeting of RBG convened the next day. "We're gonna be overwhelmed with new members," Sid said. "Our club is the coolest."

"We're gonna be popular," Stella agreed.

Wrong.

No one showed.

"Seriously?" Sid asked after ten minutes. "Battlebots are awesome, why isn't anyone coming through the door? God, our classmates are lame."

As if on cue, the door opened and everyone turned to heartily greet their new friend.

No one was there.

"Down here," a voice lisped.

Lisa Loud, in a lab coat and gloves, stood in the threshold, a box of parts tucked under one arm. Lisa was, if Johnny remembered correctly, was four, maybe five. Yes, she was a supergenius so this kind of club _might _appeal to her, but, uh, she was an elementary school kid. This was middle school. Could she legally be a member? Also, how did she know about RBG in the first place?

He asked and she waved him off. "I heard it through the grapevine, to paraphrase an old song." She sat between Sid and Stella, who both looked at her funny.

"This is Lisa," Johnny said, "she's a child prodigy."

Lisa sighed. "I don't like being referred to as a child, but yes, I am something of a prodigy."

"I didn't think robot fights were your thing," Lincoln said.

"They're not," Lisa said, "I find combat sports crass and vulgar. However, I am extremely interested in building a robot, and, as my mother wishes me to join after school programs and socialize, I figured I would do it here."

With the arrival of Lisa, RBG was six members strong. Lincoln and Johnny divided everyone into teams of two. Lisa insisted on being with Johnny, while Liam paired off with Stella and Lincoln teamed up with Sid. Each team would construct its own bot, and when they were done, they'd throw them into a triple threat match in a steel cage. "I will focus on the framework," Lisa said. "You just stand there and look pretty. You may also, if you like, design a complacent of weapons to ensure our bot's triumph over the others."

"Okay," Johnny said, "but first I need to know the general specs and stuff."

Lisa grinned. "You will see."

Over the course of a month, they worked on their bots, hammering, soldering, banging, crossing wires, and dreaming big. Lisa wanted to keep hers and Johnny's bot a secret from the others, so she built it piece by piece. "I will assemble them all shortly before the match."

Johnny brainstormed dozens of weapons for the bot, but Lisa refused to clue him in on what the bot would look like, how big it would be, or how it would operate.

In late December, they were finally ready. Lincoln and Sid's bot shot fire and acid, and Liam and Stella's bot featured diamond-tipped drills, chainsaw blades, and a water cannon. Johnny and Lisa's bot...well, Johnny didn't know. Despite his loud and vocifiorius protests, Lisa refused to tell him anything about the finished product. "I would like it to be a surprise for you as well as everyone else."

Normally, he wouldn't have stood for that, but this was Lisa, so there was literally no chance of her bot being anything but mind blowingly cool.

They decided to hold the battle on January 5 in Lincoln and Johnny's backyard. They dubbed it "Bot Battle I", had posters printed, and bought advertising space on local radio and TV stations. Lincoln priced the tickets at five bucks a pop, figuring that if they were cheap, more people would buy them. It's not like a major bot battle happened in Royal Woods everyday; people would be interested but only if the tickets weren't exorbitantly expensive.

He was right. They sold out in a week, making well over a thousand dollars. Johnny and Liam built a real ring in the backyard and moved in bleachers. Dad came out and flipped out. "What is this? What are you doing?"

Johnny told him.

"Absolutely not," Dad said.

Sigh.

Johnny didn't want to have to do this but…

"You can be the color commentator."

Dad's face lit up. "Okay!"

On the big day, hundreds of people packed into the stands to watch the show. Lisa was running late and Johnny was starting to get nervous. The show opened with an insane pyrotechnics display and the crowd went wild. To Johnny's shock, crews from three local TV stations appeared at the last minute and covered the event, broadcasting it on Channel 2, Channel 12, and Channel 35. At the announce table, Dad, dressed in a tux and wearing headphones, welcomed the viewers at home to the event. "...the most explosive night in the history of our sport!"

"Where's Lisa?" Lincoln asked, agitated.

"I don't know," Johnny said.

"The crowd's getting antsy. We're going to have to start without her."

Sid and Lincoln's bot went to the ring first to much fanfare, followed by the other one. The ref gave the signal and the match began. They locked up, cut each other, beat each other, and pushed each other back. One fired a torrent of water at the other but it didn't get into the motor. The crowd chanted, waved signs, and cheered the mechanized mayhem. Johnny paced back and forth waiting for Lisa. Finally, she showed. "Lise! Where were you?"

"Getting ready."

"You said it wouldn't take long."

The little girl adjusted her glasses. "I miscalculated."

In the ring, Lincoln's bot lay on its back lying a dead bug and the crowd lost it.

"Okay, fine, whatever," Johnny said, "where's our bot?"

Lisa grinned. "Coming."

She whipped out the remote control and they joined Sid and the others next to the ring. Lincoln's bot had made it right side up and launched itself at Liam's, pushing it back int one of the turnbuckles. Johnny looked around. "Lise? Where's our bot?"

Before Lisa could reply, the ground began to shake. The chatter of the crowd died and they turned to look up th entrance ramp just as a motorized monster standing fifty feet tall reared its dinosaur-like head. People screamed and cowed and Sid's jaw dropped. "Dear God," Stella muttered.

The creature - that was the only word Johnny could think of to describe it - resembled a T Rex only made of car parts. It had a powerful jaw, sharp teeth, and tiny arms, and as it came toward the ring, smoke and fire blew from its nose and mouth. The world trembled with every step it took and some of the fans ran in terror. The ref climbed over the top rope and cowered behind the announce table with Dad.

"I call it Truckasaurus," Lisa said.

Truckasarus lifted one massive foot and brought it down on the ring, crushing it and the other bots beneath it.

Lisa laughed uproariously and threw her head back. "I was wrong! Combat sports are delightful!"

"How can we compete with that?" Lincoln asked.

"Yeah," Stella said, "she's too good."

"I'm going back to farming club," Liam said.

Right then and there, RBG broke up but even now, Lisa creates massive robots and pits them against each other for fun and recreation.

THE END


	31. Tail of Woe

Lincoln loved two things above all else: His pet rat Cinnamon and making money. His family was in there too but that was a given, wasn't it? Even though Johnny could be dumb and annoying, and even though Mom dragged him to junk shops and yard sales, and even though Dad was a straight up goof, Lincoln loved them.

But, again, that went without saying.

When it came to money...who doesn't love having it? You can puff yourself up about greed and money not buying happiness, but the only people who do that _have _money. You never hear a poor person go "Yeah, money sucks, dude, it's pure evil." I mean, it's kind of funny when you think about it. Look at the people who hate capitalism the most. The majority are middle and upper class white kids who benefit from capitalism more than anyone. They talk about money like it's the Devil (or Donald Trump), but you better believe _they _don't go without it. Just look at their iPhones and Starbucks cups. Nice 50 dollar Che shirt. If capitalism is so bad, why not give _me _your money, huh?

In one of the _Godfather _movies, Al Pacino says that "contempt for money is just another trick of the rich to keep the poor without it." And if you asked Lincoln, that was true. The only people he had ever known who snered at money and talked about how dumb it was had never in their lives gone without it. They were spoiled little preps who dressed well, had nice things, and so out of touch with the working class that they might as well be on the other side of the galaxy.

Why did they hate money? Lincoln didn't get that. Like...were they taking it for granted? Did they have some childish and romanticized vision of poverty? Did they look at broke, bohemian writers and artists and think "Wow, that lifestyle is so cool." If so, they only saw the nicer parts. They didn't see someone struggling to pay the bills and stressing because they couldn't come up with the rent and didn't have anywhere to go except a park bench. And it's in the middle of winter.

Before Dad got his current job and bought the house four years ago, Lincoln was as broke as you can possibly be. Some nights he went without dinner, and one of the earliest games he remembered playing as a kid was "be quiet and pretend you're not here because the landlord's at the door." Being poor isn't fun, it isn't cool, it isn't noble or romantic, it's freaking awful. Imagine being slowly suffocated. That's the crushing feeling of poverty.

Lincoln wasn't greedy - he wouldn't steal a dollar from a baby or something - but he liked his money and the breathing room it provided.

It's true that money can't buy you happiness, but that's where Cinnamon came in. A normal rat with glowing eyes and two tails instead of one (the more the merrier, y'all), CInnamon was Lincoln's best friend after Johnny. Most days, Lincoln carried his little buddy around in the breast pocket of his jacket and fed him a diet of Doritos, pork rinds, and, Cinnamon's favorite, corn chips. He only showed him to people he trusted, like Sid, Stella, and Liam. He hadn't shown him to the Louds yet because he didn't trust Lisa to not want to run some kind of horrible experiment on him.

You see, Cinnamon was no ordinary rat.

It all started at the beginning of last year. It was a warm, sunny afternoon in late September, one of those days where the light in golden and the air cool with the first faint hint of the coming autumn. At lunch, Stella sat her backpack on the table, unzipped it, and pulled out a music box with ornate woodwork and dancing ballerinas in bass relief. When you opened the lid, a light, tinkling melody played and a handcrafted ballerina on a track danced around a miniature clock face. "My grandmother sent it to me," Stella said with a hint of pride.

"From the Orient?" Liam asked.

Stella favored him with a blank stare. "No. Calgary."

"I didn't know your grandma lived in Canada," Johnny said.

"I have family all over," Stella said and returned her gaze to the box. She lovingly stroked it like a Bond villain petting his favorite cat, her eyes crossing as the ballerina completed her loop.

Lincoln didn't personally see the appeal in a music box, but whatever. To each their own. Different strokes for different folks. Stella obviously adored it and it was _clearly _important to her, which was all that mattered. Sure, it was kind of dumb, but whatever.

At the end of the day, Stella stowed it in her locker, and she, Lincoln, Johnny, Sid, and Liam walked home through the amber sunshine, each one breaking off from the group and going their own way until only Lincoln and Johnny remained. "I wonder how much that music box cost," Johnny said.

"I dunno," Lincoln said, "it looks like her grandma made it herself."

Johnny hummed.

At home, Dad, dressed in a crusty wife beater and whitie tighties wrestled around the living room floor with a Stone Cold Wrestling Buddy. He caught the Texas Rattlesnake in a Crippler Crossface and made it tap the carpet. "That's for turning heel and joining the Alliance, you double crosser!" Spittle flew from his lips and his voice broke, getting higher and more girlish. Shame and embarrassment colored Johnny and Lincoln's faces. Johnny, having finally had enough of their father's childish BS, threw his book bag down, shrugged out of his jacket, and grimaced. He ran over, slapped his elbow, and dropped it on the back of Dad's head. Dad screamed in pain and Johnny put him in a sleeper hold. "You wanna wrestle so bad? Let's wrestle."

So quick that Lincoln almost missed it, Dad bucked Johnny off, got to his feet, and hit him with a clothes line. Johnny fell back against the end table and went down; the lamp shattered on the floor and the couch moved a couple inches. Dad grabbed Johnny by the front of his shirt and heaved him off the floor, putting him on his shoulders for an F5.

Thinking fast, Lincoln ran over and speared his father. Johnny dropped from his shoulders and he fell back, hitting the floor with a thud so hard it made the dishes rattle in the cabinets. Panting, Johnny climbed onto the arm of the couch. "Alright, old man, here it comes," he said, "here it freaking comes." He did a moonsault, but Dad rolled out of the way at the last second. Johnny hit the floor and moaned.

Dad lay on his back, chest rising and falling. Lincoln put him in a figure four leglock, and it was over: Dad pounded the carpet and cried, "Uncle!"

Lincoln let him go and he and Johnny stood over him. "How was that?" Johnny asked smugly.

"It...was...awesome," Dad panted. "We should do it more often."

Sigh. They really should have known better.

Leaving Dad to drag his shattered remains back into something resembling a human form, Lincoln and Johnny went upstairs to cool out. Lincoln relaxed with a comic about a vigilante in New York City who wore a welding mask and burned bad guys up with a flamethrower and Johnny looked up cat videos and music boxes on the desktop.

The next morning, they got to school fifteen minutes early and went to the cafetera for breakfast. When they got to their usual table, they found Stella with her head hung and her hands pressing against her temples like she was trying to keep her brain in. Sid wore an expression of concern and patted her back. "What happened?" Lincoln asked.

Stella took a deep breath like she was going to speak but lost the willpower and choked back a sob instead.

"Someone done stole her music box," Liam said.

"They did what?" Johnny asked disbelievingly.

Liam nodded grimly. "They burrowed in from the back and took it right out."

Wait.

Burrowed?

Lincoln and Johnny exchanged an uneasy glance.

"What?" Liam asked.

"This has happened before," Johnny said. He looked around to make sure no one was listening and leaned over the table. Lowering his voice to a furtive whisper, he continued. "Stuff's always going missing out of people's lockers. And every time, there's a hold in the back wall, like something dug its way in from the wall."

A look of confusion crossed Liam's face. "Who would do such a thing?"

Again, Lincoln and Johnny looked at each other. Before either one of them could answer, Sid spoke up. "Not who...what?"

"I reckon I don't follow," Liam said.

Taking a deep breath, Johnny said, "There's an old urban legend. It says that there's a rat-beast living in the basement. At night, it moves through the walls and steals things, and sometimes, if it's feeling _really _ornery, it comes out in the daylight and does stuff."

Liam swallowed. "What kind of stuff?"

"Clogging toilets, pulling fire alarms, attacking people."

"Attackin' people?"

Johnny nodded. "Rumor has it the Rat-Beast once ate a kid on his way to the bathroom. He got a hall pass from second period marth and never came back."

The color had drained from Liam's face and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "W-What's the Rat-Beast look like?"

"Dude, it's terrifying," Johnny assured him.

"It's, like, ten feet tall," Lincoln put it, "and has glowing red eyes."

"Don't forget the tails," Sid said. "It has...what, five of them?"

Johnny thought for a moment. "Last I heard, it was six, but it may have grown a couple since then."

For the first time, Stella lifted her head. Raw misery misted her red rimmed eyes and her bottom lip quiver pitifully, making her look much younger than her eleven years. "You really think the Rat-Beast took my music box?" she asked.

"It fits his MO," Lincoln said.

"I'll bet dollars to doughnuts that it _was _him," Johnny said.

Stella bit her bottom lip thoughtfully. "You think we can get it back?"

Johnny opened his mouth but closed it again and looked at Lincoln. "Get it back?" Lincoln asked. "No. That thing will kill us."

Sighing, Stella hung her head again.

There were three things Lincoln hated. Being broke, professional wrestling, and seeing his friends in pain. That music box meant a lot to Stella. Part of him demanded that he do everything he could to reunite her with it. Another part, the part that had common sense, told him to sit down and stay in his lane. _You WILL die, Lincoln. And you'll probably wind up in hell, condemned to watch Wrestlemania 11 for all eternity_.

That was even more terrifying than the Rat-Beast.

But what kind of friend would he be if he didn't at least try?

Well, a living one, for starters…

"Dude," Johnny said, "I think we could do it."

"How?" Lincoln asked.

Johnny swallowed around a lump in his throat. "The old fashion way. By looking for it."

That sounded like a good way to get themselves killed, but the pain in Stella's eyes came back to him and that decided him. "Yes," he finally said. "We can find it."

Over the course of breakfast, Johnny and Lincoln hatched a plan. Sid and Johnny would go looking for the beast while Stella and Lincoln gathered intelligence. "Norm the janitor probably knows something," Johnny offered. "The guy's here almost 24/7."

A tall, lanky man with thinning blonde hair and a thick, '70s tier mustache, Norm had been cleaning the hallowed halls and lauded chambers of Royal Woods Middle School since time immemorial. He was as dedicated to maintaining the building's cleanliness as Dad was to being a wrestling loving doofus and often stayed late into the evening. He was friendly to all the kids, greeting them by name and giving them sticks of gum, and had always struck Lincoln as a real stand up guy. If anyone knew anything about the Rat-Beast, it was him.

When the bell rang, Lincoln went to his first period class, on the look out for Norm the whole way. He spotted him cleaning up a spill outside the gym, but couldn't break away from the flow of traffic to talk to him.

At the end of first period, Lincoln met up with Stella and proceeded to the bathrooms at the far end of the hall. He hid in the boys room and she in the girls room until the bell rang and the corridors cleared out. Lincoln crept out of the stall, stopped to admire himself in the mirror (looking good, bro) and opened the door just a crack. Across the way, Stella poked her head out. Lincoln nodded, and moving as one, they tiptoed into the hall. On both sides, the passageway stood empty save for puddles of frosty white from the overhead lights.

Lincoln held his finger to his lips, urging silence, and Stella nodded. She fell in behind him and followed his lead, darting from locker to trash can and hunching over to make a smaller target.

They did this for nearly twenty minutes, dodging teachers and other students.

Norm was nowhere to be found.

They looked in the gym, the cafeteria, the auditorium, the bathrooms, empty classrooms, they even went outside and snooped around the parking lot. His truck, a battered and rusted out Ford, was in its normal spot, so he was here, but where?

After searching for almost half an hour, they found him in the janitor's closet. He was sitting in a straight back chair and eating corn chips in front of a portable TV. He was so engrossed in The 3 Stooges that he didn't know they were there until Lincoln spoke. "Hey, Norm."

Norm jumped a foot and the chair went out from under him; waving his arms and letting out a sharp cry, he spilled to the floor, landing hard on his butt. Lincoln and Stella helped him to his feet and dusted himself off. "I didn't hear you come in," he said. He bent, snatched the bag of corn chips up from the floor, and held it out. "Corn chip?"

"No, thank you," Stella said.

"We need to ask you a couple questions," Lincoln said.

Norm sat, the chair creaking under his weight. "Sure. Shoot."

"Someone - or some_thing_ \- broke into Stella's locker and took her music box."

Was it Lincoln's imagination, or did Norm tense ever so slightly. "They did?" he asked. "Gee, I'm sorry to hear that. It happens from time to time. There's this -"

"Rat-Beast?" Lincoln asked.

Norm's jaw clenched. "There's no such thing," he said. The lie was clear in his eyes.

"But -"

"It's just superstition," Norm said. He got up and stood over them. Lincoln had never thought of the kindly redneck as intimidating, but in that moment, he was. He raised his arm and Lincoln and Stella both cringed. Instead of hitting them, however, he jabbed his finger down the hall. "Now get back to class."

"He's lying," Stella said as they walked away.

"I know," Lincoln said, "but why?"

Stella started to reply, but stopped herself. "I don't know."

Instead of going to class, they waited for the bell to ring, then asked around to see if anyone else had had anything go missing recently. As it so happened, a lot of kids did: Pencils, books, snacks from their lockers, even coats.

At lunch, Lincoln and Stella met with Johnny and Sid. Lincoln told them what they had found out, and Johnny listened intently. "I think it'd be best if we go together," Lincoln said. "It's too dangerous for just you and SId."

Johnny nodded. "Yeah, probably."

They agreed to meet up in the gym after school. They'd hide and then go into the basement when everyone was gone.

At the appointed time, Lincoln put his things in his locker and went to the gym. Earlier, he scouted a comfy spot between a big bin of dodge balls and a wall. He wedged himself in and sat down. No one would be able to see him unless they leaned over the bin and craned their necks.

Slowly, the normal school sounds faded away until an eerie and deafening silence held sway, broken only by the echoing clang of closing doors and distant footfalls. Lincoln waited fifteen minutes, then slipped out of his hiding spot and linked up with Sid, Stella, and Johnny at the door to the hall. Johnny checked to make sure the coast was clear, then motioned for the others to follow him.

In a line, Lincoln bringing up the rear, they made their way to the basement door. Ahead, Norm pushed a wheeled trash barrel out of the main office and everyone froze.

Caught!

Without looking in their direction, Norm went into a classroom and they breathed a collective sigh of relief.

A long set of concrete stairs led to the basement, a place of dank darkness and the whine and roar of machinery.. Lincoln and Johnny turned their phones' flashlights on and shadows scattered to the corners. A maze of corridors led into the bowels of the building. Lincoln looked for a light but didn't see any. Darn it.

"Stay close, guys," Johnny whispered.

The four of them clustered together and slowly went down the hall. A cold, stale draft blew through the gangway, stirring cobwebs in the corners, and water dripped from the ceiling, beads hitting Lincoln in the face. Strange sounds rang out from ahead, and Lincoln's heart raced. A thousand terrible images flickered through his head, all of them involving him and Johnny being eaten alive by a giant, blood hungry rat.

Eventually, they came to a four way intersection. Lincoln shone his flashlight around, and the beam illuminated something lying on the ground. "Guys," he hissed, "check this out."

The others came over.

A pile of shredded paper and empty chip bags sat on the floor like animal droppings. The bags showed signs of having been ripped and clawed.

Johnny gulped.

A trail of paper led down one of the halls, and walking carefully as if in fear of booby traps, they followed. Ahad, a sickly white light bathed the wall in ghost-like effervescence. Their steps faltered and icy dread flooded Lincoln's stomach.

Suddenly, a shadow appeared on the wall, small at first but growing bigger and bigger, its features more twisted and deformed.

More rat-like.

Stella grabbed Lincoln's arm. "There it is!"

The shadow was bigger now. Ten feet tall, twenty, its mouth snapping and its teeth jagged, sharp, perfect for breaking through plaster so that it could steal from lockers...perfect for rending flesh and breaking bone.

Lincoln watched it come, his body locked in terror. Finally, his paralysis broke, and, screaming, turned and ran. Sid, Stella, and Johnny followed, Johnny's phone dropping to the floor. Lincoln rushed headlong toward the stairs, his screams trailing over his shoulder. He didn't remember where he was or how to get out and panic overwhelmed him. He turned down a hall and tripped over his own feet, landing face first on the floor. Sid, Stella, and Johnny fell over him like dominoes toppling over and they all scrambled over each other to get away.

It was too late, though. The Rat-Beast was right behind them. Lincoln could sense it.

Without warning, a light fell over them, blinding their eyes. "What are you kids doing down here?" Norm asked.

"The Rat-Beast!" Johnny yelled.

"It's going to get us!" Lincoln screamed.

Something touched his leg and he sat up.

A regular sized rat with glowing eyes and two tails sat on his lap, its head cocked quizzically to one side. "B-B-But," Lincoln stammered.

"There's no Rat-Beast," Norm said. "There's only Cinnamon."

"Who's Cinnamon?" SId asked.

Norm sat down and crossed his legs. Cinnamon, he told them, was once a normal rat who lived as a class pet. Norm used to feed him corn chips and carry him around "for company" when he worked overnight. One night, Norm forgot to close the cage when he left. Cinnamon got out and went looking for corn chips in the janitor's closet. Somehow, he got into the chemicals and something something grew another tail. It was convoluted. "I brought him down here because I was fraid the government would do tests on him or something."

Cinnamon crawled into Lincoln's pocket and started eating a piece of pretzel he found. He then curled up and went to sleep.

"He likes you," Norm said.

And that was how Lincoln wound up with a pet rat who had two tails.


End file.
